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No. 24. 



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a The most desirable Juvenile Books issued in the Nation." 



HARPER'S STORY BOOKS 



nthly Series of Narratives, Biographies, and Tales, for the Instruction and Entertain- 
lent of the Young. By Jacob Abbott. Embellished with numerous and beautiful En- 
ravings. 

Number of " Harper's Story Books" will contain 160 pages in small quarto form, v#y beautifully illustrated, 
and printed on superfine calendered paper. 

The Series may be obtained of Booksellers, Periodical Agents, and Postmasters, or from the Publishers, at Three 

Dollars a year, or Twenty five Cents a Number, in Paper— or Forty Cents a Number in Cloth, Gilt The postage 

Harper's Story Books," which must be paid quarterly in advance, is Two Cents Subscriptions may com- 

with any Number. The two Periodicals, " Harper's New Monthly Magazine" and " Harper's Story Books," 

will be supplied to Subscribers at Five Dollars a year 

Publishers will supply Specimen Numbers gratuitously to Agents and Postmasters, and will make liberal ar- 
ra ients with them for circulating the work. They will also supply Clubs of Two persons at Five Dollars a year, 
■ ■• l e persons at Ten Dollars. Clergymen and Teachers supplied at Two Dollars a year. Numbers from the 
commencement can be supplied. Also the bound Volumes. 

Seven Volumes of " Harper's Story Books," each containing three Numbers, are now ready The Volumes are 
published quarterly, simultaneously with the appearance of the Numbers for February, May, August, and November, 
handsomely bound in Muslin, gilt, $1 00 each. 



Twenty-two Numbers are now ready, viz. : 
THE GIBRALTAR GALLERY ; being an Account of 
various Things both Curious and Useful. 

THE THREE GOLD DOLLARS ; or, an Account of 
the Adventures of Robin Green. 

RAMBLES AMONG THE ALPS. 

THE ENGINEEF , or, How to Travel in the Woods 

THE MUSEUM; or, Curiosities Explained. 

ELFRED ; or, the Blind Boy and his Pictures. 

JOHN TRUE ; or, the Christian Experience of an Hon- 
est Boy. 

THE STORY OF AMERICAN HISTORY, from the 
earliest Settlement of the Country to the Establishment 
of the Federal Constitution. 

THE STORY OF ENGLISH HISTORY, from the 
earliest Periods to the American Revolution. 

THE STORY OF ANCIENT HISTORY, from the 
earliest Periods to the Fall of the Roman Empire. 

THE STUDIO; or. Illustrations of the Theory and 
lice of Drawing, for Young Artists at Homo. 



FRANKLIN, the Apprentice Boy. 

THE HARPER ESTABLISHMENT; or ; How the 
Story Books are made 

TIMBOO AND FANNY; or, the Art of Self- instruc- 
tion. 

TIMBOO AND JOLIBA ; or. the Art of being Useful 

VIRGINIA ; or, a Little Light on a very Dark Saying 

EMMA; or, the Three Misfortunes of a Belle. 

FRANK ; or, the Philosophy of Tricks and Mischief 

THE LITTLE LOUVRE; or, the Boys' and Girls' Pic 
ture Gallery. 

THE STRAIT GATE; or, the Rule of Exclusion from 
Heaven. 

WILLIE AND THE MORTGAGE: showing how 
much may be accomplished by a Boy. 

BRUNO ; or, Lessons of Fidelity, Patience, and Self-de- 
nial, taught by a Dog. 






;?v 



/ 76 



A SERIES OF NARRATIVES, DIALOGUES, BIOGRAPHIES, AND TALES, 

FOR THE INSTRUCTION AND ENTERTAINMENT 

OF THE YOUNG. 



NUMEROUS AND BEAUTIFUL ENGRAVINGS, 



C ,cyC 



-\^t- 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight hundred 
and fifty-four, by 

HARPER & BROTHERS, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District of New York. 




"fSh 



•his 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight hundred 
and fifty-six, by 

HARPER & BROTHERS, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District of New York. 



PREFACE. 



These Dialogues, as their title imports, are intended for the in- 
struction as well as for the amusement of the readers of them. 

One of the chief advantages of the book, will be the useful prac- 
tice which it will afford in learning to read. It is difficult to read 
dialogue well, on account of the many and various intonations of 
voice which are required. 

These dialogues will also serve as lessons of elocution, by being 
committed to memory and spoken, in private parlors, or on the stage 
in schools and academies, with different persons, of course, to take 
the different parts. In cases where there are not children enough to 
represent all the persons of a dialogue, or when for any reason the 
attempt to represent the whole would seem to be too great an under- 
taking, single scenes may be selected, in which two or three charac- 
ters only appear, and they maybe committed to memory and spoken, 
as complete dialogues in themselves. 



CONTENTS. 



DIALOGUE PAGE 

I. TAKING A MIFF ' 13 

II. THE LOST RING 26 

m. THE BROKEN BOUQUET 35 

IV. THE SMASH-UP 49 

V. THE HOOP AND THE MARBLE 58 

VI. BOY NOT WANTED 66 

Vn. THE ONE-SIDED STORY *78 

VIII. THE TAMBOURINE 88 

IX. THE NEW KNIFE 107 

X. NO ENCOURAGEMENT , 112 

XI. AUNT MARIA AND HER BAROUCHE 130 

XII. THE TIGERS 145 



ENGRAVINGS. 



PAGK 

jane and lucy at the bower Frontispiece. 

MARY JANE'S OLD AGE 26 

THE BOUQUET ON THE FLOOR 35 

VICTOR HURT * 49 

ANNE'S MISFORTUNE 58 

JOHNNY'S REFUSAL 66 

CARRYING THE KITE IS 

THE BOYS IN THE BOAT 88 

NATHAN AND ELLIE 10? 

JULIA AT THE FIRESIDE 112 

THE BAROUCHE RIDE 130 

MARK IN HIS HIDING PLACE 145 



DIALOGUES, 



DIALOGUE I. 

TAKING A MIFF. 

PERSONS. 

Francisco. 

Jane, Francisco's sister. 

Johnny, little brother of Francisco and Jane. 

Lucy, Jane's cousin, three years older than Jane. 

George, )_.',,„ 

Egbert, \ Frimds °f Fran ™ c0 - 

Scene I. 

Jane, Francisco. 

A Library room. Francisco is at a table, preparing to write. Jane is sitting at a 
window, sewing. She appears to be not in good humor. 

Francisco. Come Jane, I advise you to write to Laura by this 
opportunity. 

Jane. {Sullenly.} No. 

Francisco. It is an excellent opportunity. Roger is going right 
back to Glenfield. / am going to write to William, and I advise 
you to write to Laura. 

Jane. No. I 'm not going to write to her. 



14 TAKING A MIFF. 



Scene I. Francisco thinks that Jane has taken a miff. 

Francisco. It is a week now since William and Laura went away 
to school, and we promised that we would write to them very often, 
and tell them all that happens here. There's a great deal to tell. 

Jane. {Positively.) Well, at any rate, /'m not going to write 
to Laura. 

Francisco. You 've taken a miff, I expect, at something or other. 

Jane. No, I haven't taken a miff. 

Francisco. Then I don't see why you don't write to her. It is 
a week since she went away ; you have an excellent opportunity to 
send to her, and you have plenty to say. And moreover, you prom- 
ised her that you would write. So I can't see why you don't do it, 
unless you have taken a miff 

Jane. How do you know that I have so much to say ? 

Francisco. Because you said you had, yesterday. You said that 
you had ever so much to say, and that you meant to write a letter 
of four full pages, to send by Roger when he went back. 

Jane. Well, I don't care, I can't write now. I 'm busy. I 've 
got this work to do. 

Francisco. Oh, nonsense ! I know that that is not the real rea- 
son. You had better come up here to the table with me and write. 
It will do Laura so much good to get a long letter from you. Re- 
member that when girls go away to school the first week is the worst 
one. It is then that they are most homesick, and then of course 
that they need most to be cheered and comforted by letters from their 
friends. 

Jane, I can't help it. I 'm not going to write to her. 

Francisco. Well, all I can say is that I think it i3 very strange. 



TAKING A MIFF. 15 



Scene I. James's ground of complaint. 

Especially with such a lofty and exalted friendship for each other as 
you have always professed to have. But that 's the way with girls' 
friendship. They are so affectionate and so loving toward each other 
when there is nothing to be done — but let a time of test and trial 
come, and it all proves to be nothing but emptiness and vanity. 

Jane. It 's no such thing, Francisco. I 'm as true and faithful 
a friend to Laura as ever. It is she that has deserted me, not I her. 

Francisco. Deserted you ! How has she deserted you ? 

Jane. Why, she has not written to me. She sent notes by Roger 
to all the other girls, and a letter to her mother, but nothing to me — 
not so much as the least bit of a message. 

Francisco. Ah ! I thought it was something of that sort. I 
knew that you had taken a miff at something or other. 

Jane. No, I have not taken a miff either — but I think it is a 
shame that she did not write to me. 

Francisco. But Jane, it seems to me that it is very foolish to 
take offense at such a thing as that. Besides, perhaps you have got 
a letter somewhere. Perhaps Roger brought you one, and it is on 
its way to you now by somebody. 

Jane. No ; I was there when Roger came. All the notes and 
letters that he had were in one package and I saw them open it. 
There were notes in it for almost all the other girls — but nothing for 
me. 

Francisco. But perhaps Roger had a letter for you separate 
from the package. 

Jane. No. I asked him and he said that there was nothing at 
all for me, only just the book. 



16 TAKING A MIFF. 



Scene II. The party at the summer-house. 

Francisco. The book. What book ? 

Jane. Why, a book that I lent her to read on the journey. She 
sent me that back, and nothing else. She did not even thank me for 
it. It was tied up in a paper and my name was on the outside of it, 
and that was all. 

Francisco. How did you know that it was the book ? 

Jane. Why, I tore the paper open a little at one end, and saw. 

Francisco. {Drawing a long breath^) Well, I think it's very 
foolish to take offense at such a thing as that, especially when, as 
likely as not, there is some mistake. But it is just like a girl. A 
girl's friendship is just about as substantial as a thistle down. When 
it 's calm and sunny it lies tolerably still, and looks like something 
— but the first puff of a miff that comes, blows it all away. 

Scene II. 
George, Egbert, Francisco. Afterward Jane and Lucy. 

A summer-home on a gentle elevation in a garden. Children playing in and 
around it. A broad path ascending to the entrance. At the foot of the path, 
near the spectator, a rustic seat. George and Egbert are sitting upon this seat, 
having fishing apparatus in their hands. At the door of the summer-house are 
seen Jane and Lucy, sauntering about together, with their arms round each 
other's waists, talking apparently in a confidential manner* 

George. I would not wait for Francisco any longer, Egbert. 
Let us go along. Remember he would not wait for us the other day, 
when he was going out to fly his kite. 

* See Frontispiece. 



TAKING A MIFF. 17 



Scene II. It is generous to overlook small injuries. 

Egbert. That is true, but that was only once. Francisco is a 
good fellow, and he has done me a great many good turns. I 'm 
not going to forsake him for one little offense. No, nor for two ; nor 
for three. 

George. Ah, here he comes ! 

Enter Francisco. 

Francisco. Ah ! boys, here you are. I 've made you wait. I 
had to finish my letter to William Herbert. Roger was going back 
this afternoon, and I wanted him to carry it. I just had time to 
finish it and seal it up before he came. But now I 'm all ready. 
Only I have not got my fishing-line. 

Egbert. You '11 have time enough to go and get it. We will go 
on slowly to the little pasture-gate, and wait there till you come. 

Francisco. So do. I '11 be as quick as I can. 

( The boys go out at one side, and at the same time Jane and Lucy 
come slowly down the walk from the summer-house, talking to- 
get her.) 

Lucy. Ah, you are too sensitive, Jane. Some people call it 
touchy, but I think sensitive is a more polite word. 

Jane. But she might have written to me as well as to the others ; 
and I think it was a great slight that she did not. 

Lucy. It seems to me that you ought not to decide in your mind 
that it was a slight, for you don't know yet what the cause of it 
was. There are plenty of ways of accounting for it, besides sup- 
posing that it was a slight. 

Jane. Why, how can you account for it ? 

Lucy. It may be an accident. You see it is possible that Laura 
24 B 



18 TAKING A MIFF. 



Scene II. There are many accidents that might have happened. 

actually did write to you, and that by some accident the note did not 
come. 

Jane. I don't see how there could be any accident. 

Lucy. Yes, accidents of that kind often happen. The letter 
may have got separated from the rest on the table, and hid under a 
paper or something ; and so Laura may have supposed that it was 
put in the parcel. Then perhaps she found it out after Roger had 
gone, and now she may be in great trouble because your letter was 
left behind. 

Jane. I don't think that that is at all likely. 

Lucy. Nor do I think that that particular accident is likely to 
have occurred ; but it is very likely indeed that some accident may 
have occurred. You see there are ever so many others which might 
have happened besides that. 

Jane. I can't think of any other. 

Lucy. Why, she may have given your letter separately to 
Roger, and he may have forgotten to give it to you. 

Jane. No ; I asked Roger expressly if he had any letter for me, 
and he said no. 

Lucy. Yes, but he may have been mistaken. He may have 
taken the letter and put it in his pocket, and then forgotten all 
about his having a separate letter. Didn't you ever know a boy to 
forget ? 

Jane. Yes, indeed. But I don't believe that Roger forgot to 
give me my letter. 

Lucy. Nor do I, exactly. I don't think it is very probable that 
we can think precisely what the accident was, if indeed there was an 



TAKING A MIFF. 19 



Scene II. Lucy defends the absent. 

accident. All I mean to say is, that there are a great many acci- 
dents that might have happened, and so, until you know certainly 
how it was, you ought not to take a miff. 

Jane. I don't believe it was any accident at all. I believe she 
did it on purpose. 

Lucy. Very well ; even if it was on purpose, there is no proof 
that you have any reason for taking offense. She may have reasoned 
in this way : She may have said to herself, Now I have not time to 
write to all my friends, and so I will write to my most common ones 
first ; for they don't know me so well, and they might be offended. 
But Jane is too faithful and tried a friend, and she is too true to me, 
to be shaken by such a thing as not getting the first letter. So I '11 
write all my little notes by this opportunity, and then write a good 
long letter afterward to Jane, when I have more time. 

Jane. Well, I don't think that she ought to have done so. 

Lucy. Perhaps she ought not to have done so. Suppose it was 
a mistake, and that she ought to have acted differently. What sort 
of friendship is that which wilts right down, and is gone, just be- 
cause the person you love has made a mistake ? 

Jane. But I think it was a real slight. 

Lucy. Do you mean that you suppose she is offended with you 
for any thing, and that she has taken this way to show her dis- 
pleasure ? 

Jane. I don't know. If it is not that, I am sure I don't know 
what it is. 

Lucy. Very well, then ; let us suppose that it is that. Even 
then, I think that you ought to have written to her. 



20 TAKING A MIFF. 



Scene II. True and false friendship. 

Jane. What ! when she put a slight upon me on purpose. 

Lucy. Yes. Let me ask you : Do you know of any body that 
does not sometimes do wrong ? 

Jane. Why, no — of course not. 

Lucy. Do you know of any body that does not sometimes get 
put out without just reason, and then act impatiently, and in an ill- 
humored manner? Don't you sometimes do so yourself? 

Jane. Why, yes ; I suppose I do. 

Lucy. Certainly, you do. So do I. So does every body. Now 
I wish to know what is such friendship worth, as that which gives up, 
and turns into enmity the first time we do any thing that is wrong ? 
When we have been led away to do any thing wrong, then is the very 
time that we want our friends to stand faithful and true to us. 
What is friendship worth that is very warm and loving when there is 
nothing depending upon it, but is chilled and killed the moment that 
it is put to a test? It is not worth any thing at all. Here you and 
Laura have been such great friends and you have made so many 
promises to love each other always, and to be always faithful and true ; 
and now here, the first time that your love for her is put to the test, 
see how it stands. You condemn her unheard ; you abandon her in 
the hour of need, and you turn against her just because you suspect 
that she has done wrong. 

Jane. Oh, Lucy, I think it is more than suspicion. 

Lucy. Very well then ; then we will say that she has actually 
done wrong. You turn against her when she does wrong ; and that 
is the very time of all others, when true and genuine friendship is 
most firm and reliable. What is a friend worth that turns against us 



TAKING A MIFF. 21 



Scene II. The test of true friendship. Reflection. 

when we have done wrong ? For my part, that is when I want my 
friend to cling to me the closest. 

Jane. What, when the wrong that you have done is against 
her? 

Lucy. Yes, exactly. Then is the time of all others that I want 
her to show herself true. If I have been deceived, and have been 
told any thing against her that is not true, and have got put out with 
her, and have put a slight upon her, or shown my ill-humor toward 
her in any other way, I don't wish her to get put out too, and for- 
sake me. Then is the very time that I want her most to stand by me, 
and be my friend. Then is the time for her to show whether there 
is any thing real and substantial in her love. If there is any thing 
real and substantial in it, she will stand by me then. She will over- 
look my fault, and make excuses for me, and come to me, and show 
me kindness, and so help to bring me back to my senses. 

{A voice is heard calling from the summer-house.) 

Voice. Lucy ! 

Lucy. {Calling.) Yes in a minute. {To Jane.) I must go. 
The children are calling me. I promised to play Hunt the Rabbit 
with them. 

Voice. Lucy ! 

Lucy. {Rising.) There they are calling again ; and I must go. 
Think of what I have said, and see if it is not so. 

{She goes out. leaving Jane sitting on the seat in a thoughtful 
attitude.) 



22 TAKING A MIFF. 



Scene III. A sober second thought. Johnny. 

Scene III. 
Jane, afterward Johnny and Francisco. 

The library ; the same as in Scene I. Jane is sitting before the table, where Fran- 
cisco was writing. She has a sheet of paper before her, and a pen in her hand, 
which she holds in an irresolute manner. 

Jane. I almost wish that I had written a little note to her to send 
by Roger. But it is too late now. He has gone. I might begin 
a note though now, and send it by mail — or by the next oppor- 
tunity. 

Enter Johnny. 

Johnny. Ah ! Jane, are you here ? What are you doing ? 

Jane. I am not doing any thing. I'm thinking a little of be- 
ginning a letter. 

Johnny. I wish I was big enough to write letters. How soon shall 
I be big enough ? 

Jane. I don't know, Johnny. How do you suppose I can tell ? 
It depends upon how soon you begin to learn. {To he? self .) 1 
wish I had written to her. She must be very lonesome there now 
among so many strangers ; and if it is true that she is offended with 
me for something or other, it must be from some mistake ; for I am 
sure I have not done any thing to offend her. At least, I have not 
intended to. 

Johnny. Jane, what is this ? He holds up a parcel for Jane to 
see. 



TAKING A MIFF. 23 



Scene III. Jane resolves to write to Laura. 

Jane. It is nothing but a book. 

Johnny. What is it tied up for, then ? 

Jane. Why, it is a book that Laura sent back to me. But you 
must not talk now, Johnny. You interrupt me. I'm very much 
perplexed. 

Johnny. I don't see what there is to perplex you. 

Jane. ( To herself.') I wish I had written her a note. 

Johnny. Just let me speak to you this once, Jane. May I un- 
tie this book, and take it out ? It is torn open a little at one end al- 
ready. See ! 

Jane. I did that to see what it was. Yes ; you may untie it if 
you can, and take the book out, and put it up in its place on the shelf. 

Johnny. Good ! That 's just what I shall like to do. 

Jane. ( To herself.) At any rate I '11 begin a note to her now. 

(Johnny unties the string and takes the paper off the book, and 
then gets down from his chair, and carries the book to the back 
side of the room to put it on a shelf. While he is in the act of 
reaching the book up, to put it on the shelf a letter falls out from 
it on the floor.) 

Johnny. Jane, here 's a letter. 

Jane. {Surprised.) A letter. Where? Did it come out of 
the book ? Bring it here. 

{She rises from her seat hastily and runs to meet Johnny and 
get the letter.) 

Johnny. It is a real letter ; all sealed up. 

Jane. Give it to me, quick. Yes, it is really a letter for me — 
and from Laura. How stupid I was not to look in that book ! 



24 TAKING A MIFF. 



Scene III. Jane makes a discovery. The letter. 

{She breaks the seal of the letter very eagerly and unfolds the 
sheet.} 

Johnny. Is it for you ? 

Jane. A nice good long letter ! Four pages — all full ! What 
a dear girl ! She sits down at the table greatly delighted, and 
spreads out the letter before her, in order to read it. 
Enter Francisco. 

Francisco. Well, Jane, have you got over your miff with Laura yet ? 

Jane. Laura! She's the sweetest girl that ever was known. I 
love her dearly. 

Francisco. Hi-yi ! what has happened now? There seems to 
be a great change come over your feelings. What has happened ? 

Jane. {Holding up the letter.} See ! 

Francisco. What is it ? 

Jane. A good long letter of four pages from her. 

Francisco. Ah ! That explains it. I thought it was something 
like that. Whenever there 's a sudden revival of a girl's friendship, 
you may depend upon it that there is always some favor received that 
is at the bottom of it. 

Jane. It is no such a thing. 

Francisco. Yes it is exactly such a thing. It is always so with 
a girl's friendship. The blaze of a gas-light is not any more depend- 
ent on the continual coming of the gas through the tube, than a 
girl's friendship is upon attentions and favors. If the attentions and 
favors stop for an instant, or even if they seem to stop, the friend- 
ship drops dead that moment like a bird that is shot. 

Jane. Oh, Francisco ! 



TAKING A MIFF. 25 



Scene III. Francisco's invectives. A good resolution. 



Francisco. Yes. That 's it. Two hours ago, just because, from 
some accident or other, you did not get a letter, you gave up your 
friend. You dropped her. You abandoned her. You would not 
write even a line to cheer her in her loneliness. But now, since 
you 've got a letter four pages long from her — now, how loving you 
are ! she 's the sweetest girl in the world. You love her dearly ! 
How precious such fair-weather love as that must be ! I wonder 
where / could find such a friend. 

Jane. Oh, Francisco. You 're too bad. 

Francisco. How well I could rely upon him when I was not in 
any need, and so did not want him. And when I was in any need, 
then he would fail me, and turn against me. But that would not be 
of any consequence, you know. I wish I could find such a friend ! 

Jane. Francisco ! you must be still. I will not have you talk- 
ing so. 

Francisco. If I could just get such a friend as that, and also a 
horse that would always stop and lie down when he came to a hill, 
and a dog that would turn against me and bite me whenever he saw 
robbers coming, and a roof over my house that would look like a 
good roof in fair weather, but always let the wet in everywhere when 
it rains — then I should be completely provided for. 
Jane. Francisco ! 

{He boivs to Jane with mock politeness, and goes out.) 
Jane. ( To herself.) Francisco is the greatest tease that I ever 
knew. But there's one thing I'm determined upon, and that is, 
that I never mean to take another miff as long as I live — not if I can 
help it. 



26 



THE LOST RING. 



Scene I. 



Picture of the pretended old woman. 




DIALOGUE II. 

THE LOST RING. 

PERSONS. 

Mr. and Mrs. "Williams. 
Mary Jane, their daughter. 
Lucy, Mary Jane 1 s friend. 
Anne, a young girl, a domestic. 

Scene I. 
Mary Jane ; and afteriuard Lucy. 
A room in a house. 
Mary Jane. (Looking at some things in a drawer.) How 



THE LOST KING. 27 



Scene I. The birth-day presents. Question about a ring. 

pretty they are ! I like them very much indeed. I did not think 
they would be so pretty. 

Enter Lucy. 

Lacy. Mary Jane ! 

Mary Jane. Ah, Lucy, is that you ? I 'm very glad to see 
you. Come and look at my presents. 

Lucy. Have you got some presents ? 

Mary Jane. Yes, they are my birth-day presents ; good, useful 
presents. See ! There are my gloves, and here is a little muff for 
me in the winter. And here — this is the prettiest of all. 

Lucy. A ring ! 

Mary Jane. Yes, a gold ring — real gold. 

Lucy. {Trying it on her finger^) But it is too large. 

Mary Jane. Yes, it is a little too large now, but that is because 
I am growing. (Mary Jane takes the ring and puts it on her own 
finger.} It is rather loose now, but I shall grow pretty soon to fit 
it. You see, a gold ring is a thing that we keep a long while. I 
expect to keep this one all my life. 

Lucy. The gloves are pretty. 

Mary Jane. Yes, and they fit me exactly. You see the gloves 
will not last so long. I shall wear them out before I grow 
much bigger; but the ring will never wear out. (Mary Jane 
puts on one of the gloves over the hand which has the ring upon 
it.) 

Lucy. Yes, Mary Jane, a ring will wear out in time. It grows 
slenderer and slenderer, until at last it is nothing but a little gold 
thread around your finger. 



28 THE LOST KING. 

Scene I. 'Wrong to ridicule old age. 

Mary Jane. Oh Lucy, what a story ! 

Lucy. Yes, it will, truly. My grandmother has got a ring 
which she had when she was a little girl, and now it is nothing but 
a thread. She showed it to me the other day. She 's about 
seventy-two ; and when you are seventy-two, your ring will be 
almost worn out. 

Mary Jane. Seventy-two ! Think of my being seventy-two. 
(Mary Jane takes an umbrella which stands near, and, using it 
for a staff, begins to hobble about the room, in imitation of an 
infirm old woman.) Oh dear me ! Oh dear me ! What shall I 
do ? I 've got the rheumatis', dre' fully. {They laugh heartily?) 

Lucy. {Sudderily sobering herself.) Mary Jane, you must 
stop. You must not laugh at old people. It is wicked. 

Mary Jane. Well, I won't. But now let me show you my 
muff. 

Enter little Anne. 

Anne. Miss Mary Jane, your mother sent me to tell you that 
the stage is coming. 

Mary Jane. Is it ? Come, Lucy, let 's go and see. We expect 
father in the stage. Let 's go and see if he has come. And Anne, 
you must put my things away for me. I can't stop. (Mary Jane 
and Lucy run out.) 

Anne. Yes, I '11 put away the things carefully. These are the 
gloves. I must touch them very carefully, for fear I might tumble 
them. I '11 put them in the drawer, so. And this muff — this must 
go in too. Now if I shut the drawer, it will all be right. {She 
shuts the drawer, sets the furniture in order, and goes out.) 



THE LOST RING. 29 



Scene II. Eing missing. Suspicions. 



I 



Scene II. 
Mrs. Williams, Mary Jane. 

Another room. Mrs. Williams sitting by a work table, sewing. Enter Mary 

Jane. 

Mary Jane. Oh, mother ! mother ! What do you think ? "My 
ring is gone ! 

Mrs. Williams. Gone? 

Mary Jane. Yes, my beautiful ring ; and I 'm almost sure that 
Anne has stolen it. 

Mrs. Williams. Oh no, Mary Jane, Anne would not steal it. 
You 've dropped it somewhere, or lost it in some other way. 

Mary Jane. No, mother, indeed I have not. Really and truly 
I have not. I had it in the other room, with my muff and my 
gloves, to show it to Lucy. I had them all there. I remember that 
I had the ring perfectly well, for I remember that I was showing 
Lucy how nice and big it was for me, so as to be ready for me when 
I grow a little older. 

Mrs. Williams. I have no doubt that you had the ring ; but I 
can not believe that Anne would take it. Have you felt in all your 
pockets ? 

Mary Jane. {Feeling in her pockets.) Ah, mother, it 's of no 
use for me to feel in my pockets. I'm sure it is not there. 

Mrs. Williams. Are you sure that Lucy did nottake it away 
by mistake ? 



30 THE LOST RING. 



Scene II. Mrs. Williams believes that Jane is innocent. 



Mary Jane. Oh, yes. mother, how could she ? 

Mrs. Williams. Why, she might possibly have had it on her 
finger, or in her hand ; and then when you were called away sud- 
denly, she might have taken it away without being aware of it. 

Mary Jane. Oh, no, mother, I'm sure she did not. She had it 
a minute I know ; but she gave it back to me. 

Mrs. Williams. Then it must be in your drawer, or somewhere 
about there. Perhaps it dropped on the carpet, and rolled away. 

Mary Jane. No, mother. I am almost sure that Anne has 
taken it. 

Mrs. Williams. And what do you suppose she has done with 
it? 

Mary Jane. Oh, perhaps she has got it in her pocket, or per- 
haps she has put it in her chest up stairs, or hid it away somewhere. 
She would not dare to put it on her finger. I think we ought to 
search among her things, and see. 

Mrs. Williams. Well ; you may go and tell your father, and 
ask him what you shall da 

Mary Jane. Yes that will be a good plan. I'll run now and 
meet him coming in. (Mary Jane goes out.) 

Mrs. Williams. (Alo?ie.) I can not think that Anne can have 
taken the ring. There are some people that we think are honest, 
and some people that we know are honest. Anne is one of those that 
we seem to know are honest. Still, she may have been tempted by 
the ring, poor child ! It would break her heart to know that we sus- 
pected her of stealing. 

(Enter Mary Jane, leading her father, who is dressed as if just 



THE LOST RING. 31 



Sceno IIL Plans for putting Jane to the test. 

coming in from a drive. He converses with Mary Jane while he 
is putting away his hat and coat.) 

Mary Jane. I suppose she will be very angry when we tell her 
that we think she has taken it. 

Mr. Williams. No ; not if she is innocent. She will be fright- 
ened, and very much pained — but she will not be angry. It is 
guilty people that are indignant and angry, not the innocent, when 
they are suspected of any crime. 

Mary Jane. Do you suppose that she will be willing that we 
should search her chest ? 

Mr. Williams. Yes, if she is innocent, she will. But if she 
has taken the ring, and has hid it in her chest, then she will refuse 
to let us search, and pretend to be very indignant that we suspect her. 

Mary Jane. Well, father, let us go and see. 



Scene III. 
Mr. Williams, Mary Jane, Anne. 

A kitchen. A table where Anne has just been ironing. 

Anne. {Earnestly, but modestly and gently.) No, sir; I cer- 
tainly did not take it. I did not see it at all. I saw the gloves and 
the muff, and I put them away ; but I did not see the ring at all. 

Mr. Williams. Well, Anne, I can not help believing what you 
say ; but in order that we may be sure, are you willing that we 
should search all about, and see if we can find it anywhere ? 



THE LOST RING. 



Scene III. Jane stands the test extremely well. 

Anne. Yes, sir ; and I will help you. 

Mr. Williams. Are you willing to take out every thing you have 
got in your pocket ? 

Anne. Yes, sir, perfectly willing. That is my handkerchief; and 
here are two nuts that Miss Mary Jane gave me ; and here is a 
penny. That is mine. See, there is nothing else. I turn my 
pocket inside out. 

Mr. Williams. Are you willing that I should go and search your 
chest up in your room ? 

Anne. Yes, sir ; I wish you would go. 

Mary Jane. I did not think you would be willing to have us go 
and look in your chest. 

Anne. Oh, yes, I 'd rather you would go than not, because then 
you will know that I did not take the ring. 

Mary Jane. Well, father, let us go. 

Mr. Williams. No, Mary Jane, it is useless to search her chest. 
We shall not find the ring there. Anne has not taken it, you may 
depend. And, Anne, you must not let it trouble you that we asked 
you about it. I never for a moment thought that you had taken the 
ring, and now I am sure you have not. Circumstances often occur 
in the course of life which direct suspicion of wrong against the most 
honest persons, but when they are met in such a spirit of openness 
and candor, as you have shown now, they can not be deserved. 



THE LOST RING. 33 



Scene IV. The ring is found. Scene V. Anne. 

Scene IV. 
Mr. Williams, Mrs. Williams, Mary Jane. 

The same room as in Scene I. Mr. and Mrs. Williams and Mary Jane, all en- 
gaged in looking about the floor. 

Mr. Williams. You are sure you had the ring when you showed 
Lucy the gloves and the muff? 

Mary Jane. {Going to the drawer.) Yes, sir. I'm perfectly 
sure, for I showed the ring to Lucy and she said it was too big, and 
I told her that that was because I was going to keep the ring till I 
grew up to be a young lady. But the gloves, I told her, were just 
right, because I was going to wear them out now. There are the 
gloves, and there is the muff — but where is the ring? 

Mr. Williams. { Taking up the gloves and feeling of them.) 
What is this ? — Here is something hard. 

Mary Jane. {Eagerly. ) Let me see. {She puts her finger 
into the finger of the glove and draws out the ring.) There it is 
now. If that is not astonishing. When I pulled off my glove the 
ring came off with it. I '11 run as quick as I can, and tell Anne that 
it is found. {She runs away with the ri?ig.) 

Scene V. 
Anne; afterward Mr. Williams and Mary Jane. 

The kitchen. Anne employed in setting a plate, and a cup and saucer, for supper, 
at the end of a table. 

Anne. I 'm so glad that they found the ring. 
24 C 



34 THE LOST RING. 



Scene V. The reparation. Anne is pleased 

(Enter, Mr. Williams, with a small book in his hand.) 

Mr. Williams. Anne, we have come to make you reparation. 

Anne. To make me what, sir ? 

Mr. Williams. To make you reparation ; that is to acknowledge 
and repair as far as we can our error in suspecting that you took the 
ring. 

Anne. Oh, Mr. Williams, that is of no consequence. I 'm very 
glad that the ring is found. And now that it is found it is no mat- 
ter. The trouble is all ended. 

Mr. Williams. No, we ought not to let it end so. We made 
an unjust charge against you — or rather we entertained an unjust 
suspicion. We were not to blame for doing this, for circumstances 
necessarily led us to do it. But when in such a case we find our 
error, we ought always to do something to atone for it. So we give 
you this little book. See what I have written in the beginning of it. 
(He reads.) " To Anne, from her friends, Mr. and Mrs. Williams 
and Mary Jane, in token of their entire confidence in her scrupulous 
honesty." 

Anne. What a pretty book. I am very much pleased with it, 
and with what you have written in it. But it was not necessary for 
you to give me any thing. 

Mr. Williams. It is right that we should. Whenever by our 

inadvertence in taking care of our property we are the means of 

bringing innocent persons under suspicion, and so of causing them 

pain, we ought always to make them some reparation for the wrong 

tthat we have unintentionally done them. 



THE BROKEN BOUQUET. 



35 



Scene I. 



Picture of the children in the school-room. 




DIALOGUE III. 

THE BROKEN BOUQUET. 

PERSONS. 

Midget, 



Miss Alice, a Teacher. 

Carrie, ) 

Jane. 1" ^^ er scholars. 



MIDGET, ) 

^ UCY j- Younger scholars. 
Other pupils. 



Scene I. 
Miss Alice. 

A small school-room. A desk for a teacher, and some benches for young children. 
Enter Miss Alice, with a boquet of flowers in her hand. 

Miss Alice. {Alone.') Here I am then ; and this is the room 
that is to be the scene of my labors this summer. It is a pleasant 



36 THE BROKEN BOUQUET. 

Scene I. Miss Alice's bouquet. Scene II. The children come in. 

little room. How I long to see the children. I shall like them, I 
know ; and I'll try to make them like me. Some of them are so 
young that I suppose I shall teach them to read. Poor things ! 
How hard it must be for them to learn the letters — letters are such 
little things to see ; and some of them look so much alike. Then 
there is nothing to remember them by. I tried to learn the Hebrew 
letters once, and I found it was very hard — very hard indeed. And 
it must be just as hard for the children to learn the English letters. 
However, I'll help them all I can; and when the recess comes, I'll 
play with them. I have got a good many games that I am going to 
teach them to play. 

This bouquet of flowers — let me see what shall I do with it till they 
come? I'll put it in the desk. I am going to divide it up, and give 
each of my scholars one of the flowers. I'll give the flowers to them 
in the recess. I'll keep the bouquet in my desk till the recess comes, 
and so surprise them. 

The dear children ! I wish it was time for them to come. {She 
looks at her watch.) It is more than half an hour yet before it will 
be time for the school to begin. I shall have to go to the book-store 
to buy me a pencil to rule the writing books with. {She puts the 
things in order about the desk and room, and goes out. ) 

Scene II. 
Midget, Carrie, Lucy, Jane, and other scholars. 

The same schoolroom. Enter Midget, peeping in at the door. 
Midget. No, Carrie, there's nobody here. Come in. Tell the 
girls that she is not here, and that thev must all come in 



THE BROKEN BOUQUET. 37 

Sceue II. The children's ideas of their teacher. 

Carrie. {Without.) Girls! Girls! There 's nobody here. 

{Enter Carrie, followed by Lucy, Jane, and other girls. They 
run about the room in a wild and noisy manner.) 

Midget. Here we are, and she has not come. I hope she won't 
come this hour. 

Carrie. What a funny room I And these little benches. They are 
not half big enough for us. I suppose she thinks we are all little girls. 

Lucy. I'm not a little girl. I'm almost seven. 

Jane. Have you seen the teacher, Carrie ? 

Carrie. No ; and I don't believe I shall like her a bit. 

Midget. Nor I. Look at her desk. See how nice it looks, just as 
particular as a pin. She is dreadfully old-maidish, I know. She'll 
scold us if we do the least thing. {Midget sits down in the teacher's 
desk, and begins to mimic a scolding teacher. Lucy, you naughty 
child! How you behave! Carrie, come here to me this minute. 
( The children laugh.) 

Lucy. Oh, Midget ! What a girl you are ! 

Carrie. I'm going to look in her desk, and see what she has got 
hid away in it. 

Midget. Oo — oo — oo ! What a pretty bunch of flowers \ 

Carrie. { Talcing up the flowers, and turning away with them.) 
Yes, I'm going to see them. 

Midget. {Following Carrie.) Let me see 'em. 

Carrie No, not yet. I want to look at them. Ah ! she thought 
we should not know that she had these flowers. She hid them 
away in her desk. But we have got them ; and we will look at 'em 
as much as we please. 



38 THE BROKEN BOUQUET. 

Scene II. Misfortune to the bouquet. An alarm. 

All the children. (Crowding around.) Let me see 'em. 

Midget. (Taking hold of the bouquet.) Let me take 'em a min- 
ute. Carrie, you have had 'em long enough. 

Carrie. No. 

Midget. Yes. 

(The girls pull for the flowers, and in the struggle the string 
breaks, and all the floivers fall in confusion upon the floor.) 

Carrie. There now, Midget, see what you have done ! 

Midget. See what you have done, yourself. It is all because 
you would not let me take the flowers in my hand a minute, just to 
look at them. 

Carrie. No, it's all because you tried to pull them away from 
me. You ugly thing ! 

Jane. Oh, don't let us quarrel about it. Let us pick the flow- 
ers up and put them together again as well as we can. 

Midget. So we will. Oh, dear me ! We can't put them to- 
gether well at all. 

Carrie- Hurry, hurry ' She may come back. I hear a noise 
at the door. Hurry ! hurry ! 

(The children hurry the flowers together and put them in the 
desk.) 

Midget. There, shut down the desk, quick. Now we must not 
any of us tell. 

Children. No, we won't tell. 

Carrie. Listen. Hush. Is she coming? No. I thought I 
heard her, but she is not coming. She never will know that we did 
it. So we don't care. 



THE BROKEN BOUQUET. 39 

Sccno II. The song. Jane -will not sing. 

{Children, all except Jane, begin to dance about the floor, sing- 
ing, We don't care 1 We don't care /) 

Midget. Let us form a ring. 

(The children form a ring and take hold of hands and dance 
round, Midget singing.) 

We know who did it, very well, 
But we will never, never tell ; 

Never tell, never tell. 
No, we will never tell. 

We '11 stand before her in a row, 
And tell her that we do not know; 

Do not know, do not know. 
We all will say we do not know. 

Come, Jane, why don't you come and dance and sing? 

Jane. Because I don't want to dance and sing. At the least, I 
don't want to sing that song. 

Midget. Ah, Jenny is going to tell of us. She is going to be 
a tell-tale. 

Jane. No, I 'm not a tell-tale, and I shall not tell of you, but 
I 'm not going to sing that song. 

Carrie. Hush ! Hark ! I hear her coming. Run, children ! 
Run to your seats ! ( The children run to their seats, except Jane, 
who remains on the floor.') 



40 THE BROKEN BOUQUET. 

Scene III. Miss Alice comes in. The pencil. 

Scene III. 
Miss Alice and all the children. 

Miss Alice. How do you do, children. I am very happy to see 
you all. I am Miss Alice. I 'm going to be your teacher. I hope 
we shall be very good friends. Are you all going to be my scholars ? 

Children. Yes, ma'am. 

Miss Alice. I should like to have you call me Miss Alice. 
That 's my name. And so you can say, Yes, Miss Alice, instead of 
yes, ma 'am. Will you ? 

Children. Yes, ma'am. 

Miss Alice. (To Jane who is standing near her.) What is 
your name? 

Jane. My name is Jane. 

Miss Alice. And you are to be one of my scholars I suppose ? 

Jane. Yes, Miss Alice. 

Miss Alice. See, I 've been buying a pencil to rule the writing 
books with. 

Jane. It is a very pretty one, I think. 

Miss Alice. I 'm going to put it in my desk. {She opens the 
desk.) 

Miss Alice. Ah ! my beautiful bouquet of flowers ! It is all 
spoiled. Why, what a calamity ! But it is no great matter, after 
all. I suppose that some of you did it, but it was by accident, I am 
sure. So it is no great matter. Do you know how it came so ? 

Children. (All but Jane.) No, ma 'am. 



THE BKOKEN BOUQUET. 41 

Scene IIL Jane is not a tell-tale. 

Miss Alice. Oh, yes, some of you must know. It is no great 
matter, but you ought to tell me what is true about it. Jane, do you 
know how this happened ? 

Jane Yes, Miss Alice, I do know. 

Miss Alice. And how did it happen ? , 

Jane. Why, Miss Alice, I would rather not tell. 

Miss Alice. (After a pause.) And what is the reason, Jane, 
why you are not willing to tell me ? Is it because you think it will 
bring blame upon some of your playmates ? 

Jane. Yes, Miss Alice. 

Miss Alice. ( Taking Jane by the hand and drawing her near.) 
That 's a good reason, Jane. That 's a very good feeling in you too. 
I like you for that. And now I 'm sure that if you had yourself 
been the one that spoiled my bouquet, you would have told me of it 
honestly. 

Jane. Yes, Miss Alice ; I honestly would. 

Miss Alice. That 's right, Jane. A generous-minded girl is re- 
luctant to expose the faults of others ; but she is always ready to 
confess her own. And now, children, since the one who actually did 
happen to spoil my bouquet is not willing to acknowledge it, I shall 
never know. But it is of no great consequence, and so we will 
think no more about it. I meant the flowers for you, and in the re- 
cess I will separate them carefully, and see if there are any left 
good enough to give you ; and as to the accident, we will think no 
more about it. 



42 THE BROKEN BOUQUET. 

Scene IV. Meeting of Carrie and Midget in the street. 



Scene IV. 
Carrie, Midget, Miss Alice. 

A corner of the street. Enter Carrie, with her satchel in her hand. In passing 
round the corner, she comes upon Midget, who is waiting there. 

Carrie. Midget, is this you ? I thought you had gone home. 

Midget. Well, I am going home — pretty soon. 

(A pause. The two girls seem to be at a loss what to say.) 

Carrie. Are you waiting here for any thing, Midget? 

Midget. Yes. 

Carrie. So am I. 

Midget. Who are you waiting for ? 

Carrie. I am waiting for Miss Alice. 

Midget. So am I. 

Carrie. What do you want to see her for ? 

Midget. Why, I thought that, on the whole, I would tell her 
that it was I that broke her bouquet to pieces. 

Carrie. That is just what I was going to do. I was going to 
tell her that it was I. 

Midget. But, Carrie, I think it was more my fault than yours, 
for I was pulling it away from you. 

Carrie. No. I think it was more my fault than yours, for I 
ought to have let you take them. Besides, it was I that took them 
out of the desk, and that was the beginning of the trouble. 

Midget. Hush ! Here she comes. 



THE BROKEN BOUQUET. 43 

Scene IV. Carrie and Midget are joined by Miss Alice. 

Enter Miss Alice. 

Miss Alice. Ah, children, I am glad to see you. Now we can 
walk along home together. 

Midget. We were waiting for you, Miss Alice. 

Miss Alice. Were you ? I am very glad. 
(She takes them one by each hand, and they walk along.) 

Midget. We wanted to tell you something, Miss Alice. 

Miss Alice. Well, what is it about ? 

Midget. It is about the bouquet. We wanted to tell you how it 
came to be spoiled. 

Miss Alice. And how was it ? 

Midget. Why, it was me. 

Carrie. No, it was me. 

Miss Alice. It is a little better to say, it was I. 

Midget. Well, it was I. I was trying to pull it away from 
Carrie, and the string uneame, and all the flowers scattered over the 
floor. Then we thought we heard you coming, and we had to 
huddle them together as fast as we could, and so we could not put 
them up nice again at all. But it was my fault, pulling them away 
from Carrie. 

Carrie. No, Miss Alice, it was my fault, taking them out of the 
desk, and then not letting Midget look at them. 

Miss Alice. Then I think it was the fault of both of you. One 
took them out of the desk, that was one fault ; and the other tried 
to pull them away, that was the second fault. Which do you think 
was the worst ? 

Midget. Mine, because that was what did the mischief. 



44 THE BROKEN BOUQUET. 

Scene IV. "Whose fault was it? 

Carrie. No. mine j because that was the beginning of it. 

Miss Alice. I am not quite certain which is the worst. But 
there was another fault which, I think, was worse than either. 

Carrie. What one, Miss Alice ? 

Miss Alice. The fault of opening the desk. You see, we don't 
measure a fault by the mischief that comes from it, but from the 
wrongfulness of it. Now, I think it is more wrongful to open any 
other person's private desk, or drawer, or trunk, without leave, than 
it is to take up a bouquet that belongs to them. So I think that the 
one who opened the desk, in the first instance, was the one who was 
the most to blame. 

Carrie. Well, Miss Alice, that was me. 

Miss Alice. It is better to say, that was I. That was me, would 
be right in French, but in English it is more correct to say that it 
was I. 

Midget. But, Miss Alice, I think I was more to blame in pull- 
ing the boquet away from her, than she was in opening the desk. 

Miss Alice. That was wrong, it is true, but then that was done 
by a sudden and thoughtless impulse ; whereas, opening the desk to 
see what was in it, was a deliberate wrong. 

Midget. We 're very sorry we did it, Miss Alice. 

Miss Alice. You are very good girls to come and tell me. But 
we can not talk about it any more now, for this is the place where I 
must turn off to go where I live. But come early this afternoon, 
and I will talk with you about it at my desk. Till then you need 
not think of it at all. Good-by. 

Children. Good-by, Miss Alice. 



THE BROKEN BOUQUET. 45 



Scene V. Carrie and Midget are to be punished. 

Scene V. 
Miss Alice, Carrie, Midget. 

The school-room. Miss Alice at her desk. Enter Midget and Carrie. 

Midget. Here we are, Miss Alice. 

Miss Alice. That's right. I knew you would come. I have 
been thinking about the boquet. I don't think that you did any 
thing very wrong — still I think you had better be punished for it. 

Midget. {After a moment's pause.) Well, Miss Alice, we 
will. 

Miss Alice. You see you came and confessed to me that you did 
it. You came of your own accord. Now if I don't punish you for 
it you will not like to come and confess a fault another time, for fear 
I should think you do it to escape getting punished. 

Came. We should not want to have you think that, Miss Alice. 

Miss Alice. No, I know you would not. Besides, it v much 
more noble to confess our faults when we know that we bring our- 
selves punishment by it. 

Midget. Yes, Miss Alice. I think we had better be punished. 

Miss Alice. Well, let me think. What shall the punishment 
be ? What should you think of your having to make fifty straight 
marks on the slate about two inches long ? 

Midget. Well, Miss Alice, we will do that. 

Miss Alice. It will be very hard to make such long marks, and 
have them straight. But it will be improving to you to make them. 



46 THE BROKEN BOUQUET. 



Scene V. "What the punishment is to be. 

I don't expect you to make them perfectly straight, you know — but 
only as straight as you can. 

Carrie. But, Miss Alice, how long is two inches ? 

Miss Alice. About as long as your finger. 

Midget. (Showing on her finger.} About as long as that ? 

Miss Alice. Yes. 

Midget. Well ; we will make the marks. 

Miss Alice. And you must make them out of school hours. You 
may make them in the recess, or you may come before school. 

Carrie. We'll make them in the recess, Midget, this very after- 
noon. Can we make them all in one recess, Miss Alice ? 

Miss Alice. I don't know. Perhaps not. But if you can not 
make them in one recess you must take two. You must make them 
carefully. 

Carrie. We will make them very carefully indeed. 

Miss Alice. I don't know but that on the whole you ought to 
make a hundred marks. I am afraid that fifty will not be enough. 
You see we want to have the punishment pretty severe. 

Midget. Yes, Carrie, we will. It shall be a hundred. We will 
have a good severe punishment. 

Carrie. Yes, and that will make us remember never to do so 
again — never — forever. 



i 



THE BROKEN BOUQUET. 47 

Scene VI. Making the marks. Jane's sympathy. 

Scene VI. 
Carrie, Midget, Jane, and other children. 

School-room. Recess. Children playing. Carrie and Midget at their desks, mak- 
ing marks on their slates. Jane looking over. 

Carrie. Now, Midget, don't you make them too fast. We have 
got up to ninety ; and I want the last to be the best of all. Ninety- 
one. 

Midget. Well, I'll go just as slow as you please. 

Carrie. (Very deliberately.) Ninety-two. Ninety-three. Ninety- 
four. Have you made ninety- four? 

Midget. Yes, but it is a little crooked. 

Carrie. Take care then and make the rest straighter. I want 
Miss Alice to see that the last ones are the straightest of all. 

Jane. You make them very well, Midget — very well indeed. 
But I should think you would begin to be tired. 

Midget. I am tired. 

Jane. I would make some of them for you, if that would do. 

Midget. No ; that would not do. 

Jane. Besides, I don't think I could make them as well as you 
do. 

Carrie. Ninety-eight. This is ninety-eight. 

Midget. Oh, Jenny, you could make them a great deal better. 

Carrie. Ninety-nine. And now, One hundred. 

Midget. (Clapping her hands.} There! It 's done. 



48 THE BROKEN BOUQUET. 

Scene VI. The punishment is done. A good song. 

Carrie. No ; let us make one more for full measure. A hun- 
dred and one. 

(Midget makes the last stroke, and then puts down her pencil, 
and begins capering about the room.) 

Midget. The punishment is done ! The punishment is done ! 

Carrie. Yes, the punishment is done. Now, I'll put the slates 
right, and then we'll dance and sing. 

(She places the slates side by side on the teacher's desk, so that 
Miss Alice can see them when she comes in ; and then the chil- 
dren form a ring. ) 

Carrie. Come, Midget, make us up a song. 

Midget. Well. (She sings.) 

Dance and sing 

Round the ring; 
Now's the time to dance and play ; 

To own our faults is just the thing, 
For that takes all the pain away. 

Jane. That 's a good song. I'll come and sing that song. 
Carrie. Yes, Jenny, come, right in here between me and Midget. 
(Jane comes and joins the ring ; and then the children dance 
and sing the song again.) 



i 



THE SMASH-UP. 



49 



Scene I. 



George, Victor, and James in the garden. 




DIALOGUE IV 

THE SMASH-UP. 



George, the Gardener. 
James Steady. 
Victor, James's Cousin. 



persons. 

Mr. Livery, 
Mr. Rockaway, 
Hostler. 



J- Stable Keepers. 



Scene I. 
George the Gardener, Victor, James. Afterward a hostler. 

A garden. George the gardener at work. Enter Victor and James. Victor is 
smartly dressed, with a feather in his cap, and is flourishing his whip. 

Victor. In five minutes the wagon is going to be ready. Old 
Livery was not willing at first to let me have his horse. But I 
promised him well, and so at last he said yes. But when I get him, 
24 T) 



THE SMASH-UP. 



Scene I. Victor's boastings. The gardener's ideas. 

you '11 see how I '11 make him go ahead. I '11 keep him on the gal- 
lop all the time. 

Gardener. Are you going on horseback or in a wagon ? 

Victor. In a wagon ; and you '11 see how I '11 make Livery's old 
go-cart rattle over the stones. 

Gardener. Ah, Victor, you don't seem to have the least idea of 
any limit, either to the strength of a horse or of a wagon. 

Victor. No ; and I tell you there is no limit when I get hold 
of them. I make them come up to the mark, you may depend. 
{He struts about, snapping his whip.} 
Enter Hostler. 

Hostler. The wagon is ready, Master Victor, and Mr. Livery 
wants to know if you will be good enough to drive carefully. 

Victor. Oh, yes. He is always wanting us to drive carefully. 
I '11 show you how carefully I '11 drive. ( The Hostler and Victor 
go out.} 

Gardener. He'll worry out the horse and break the wagon. 
He has no right ideas in regard to the strength of either the one or 
the other. 

James. Why, George, a wagon is made very strong. It is all 
ironed. 

Gardener. True, it is ironed, and it is made strong enough for 
right and careful usage ; but going on a gallop over rough and stony 
roads, or over gridiron bridges, would soon break any w T agon to pieces. 

James. Then why don't they put on thicker and stouter irons, 
and so make the wagon strong enough not to be broken, if the roads 
are ever so ston^? 



, 



THE SMASH-UP. 51 



Scene I. Strength of the horse and of a wagon. 



Gardener. Because that would make it so much heavier. They 
want the wagon to be as light as possible, so that it can be drawn 
easily and go fast. A wagon made for careful usage can be made 
quite light. If it is to have rough and careless usage, then it must 
be made heavy and clumsy. Now, all gentlemen, when they are 
going to have a wagon, prefer to have it light, so that it may go fast 
and prettily where the ground is smooth. It is true that if they 
have such a wagon, they are obliged to be careful of it, and always 
to go gently over rough places ; but still they prefer to do that, 
rather than to have a clumsy and heavy wagon that it would be hard 
for the horse to draw. 

James. I 'm sure I should rather have such a light wagon. 

Gardener. So should I, and so would any person of common 
sense. But silly boys, who don't understand this, get a wagon that 
is made light, for careful men, and they go rattling over the stones 
in it, without any thought or care. Then the first thing they know 
there comes a break-down. 

James. Yes, the wagons are always getting broken when Victor 
rides. But he thinks he does not break them. They break them- 
selves, he says. But, George, how is it about the horse ? 

Gardener. Well, with the horse it is very much the same as 
with the wagon. The horse works with his muscles. His muscles 
are a part of his flesh. He has muscles enough to work a number 
of hours at a time, and to work pretty hard, but if you make him 
do more than his muscles are fitted for, you tire him out, and if you 
twitch and pull him about, as Victor does, you worry him out, 
which is just as bad. 



52 THE SMASH-UP. 



Scene I. Important principles. Eule for driving. 

James. Then if the horse had more and larger muscles he would 
be stronger and could go faster. 

Gardener. He would be stronger but he could not go faster, for 
he would have such a load of muscles to carry that he would be 
heavy and clumsy. 

James. Still, I should like a horse with a great many very large 
muscles, so as to have him very strong, indeed. 

Gardener. Then all you have to do is to take an ox. An ox 
is just such an animal. He has a great many muscles, and they 
make him heavy and clumsy; but then he is prodigiously strong. 
A horse has fewer and smaller muscles, and so he is lighter and slen- 
derer, and can go faster. But then his strength is sooner exhausted, 
and if we want him to hold out we must use him more carefully. A 
boy is not fit to drive a horse unless he knows what a horse's strength 
really is, and what he can do. And in the same manner he is not 
fit to drive a wagon unless he knows what the strength of a wagon is. 
and how much it will bear. 

James. But, George, then what shall I do? for I don't know 
exactly how much the strength of a horse is, or even of a wagon. 

Gardener. Then you must do as you see other prudent and care- 
ful gentlemen do. Drive as you see that they drive, and no faster. 
In this way you will be sure to keep within bounds, and you will 
take back your horse and wagon to the stable in good order. Then 
the stable men will always be ready to let you their horses and car- 
riages. Indeed that is the way you do act now. Mr. Livery told 
me the other day that he would rather let you a horse and carriage, 
than any boy of your age in town. 



THE SMASH-UP. 53 



Scene II. Victor comes in wounded. 



James. Did he ? 

Gardener. Yes. He said your horse always came home in 
nearly as good order as he went out. But here comes Victor again. 

Scene II. 
The Gardener, Victor, James. 

Enter Victor, limping and holding his hand upon his knee. 

Victor. Oo-oo-oo ! 

James. What's the matter ? 

Victor. Oo — I 've had a smash-up. Oo ! That crazy old cart. 
Oo-oo — {He sits down on a bench holding his knee and groan- 
ing.) 

James. Did you get hurt ? 

Victor. Yes, I was going straight along the road, and the old 
cart broke down and pitched me out — Oo-oo ! 

James. Did it break down ? 

Victor. Yes — or at least something gave way, so that it pitched 
me out. There is not one of old Livery's carriages that will bear 
the least joggle, in going along the road, without breaking down. 
Oh ! — Dear me ! I expect I 've strained one of the tendons of my 
knee. 

Gardener. {Taking up his tools to go away.) I think it is 
something worse than straining a tendon that you have done, by your 
smash-up. 

Victor. Worse? Why, what do you think I have hurt. The 



54 THE SMASH-UP. 



Scene III. Victor thinks that he has hurt his knee-pan. 

bone is not broken I am sure, and I don't think my knee is out of 
joint. (He feels of his knee and presently tries to walk, and finds 
that he can walk, though with difficulty.) What do you think it is ? 

Gardener. It is something much more delicate and more difficult 
to be righted again when it is injured, than any tendon. {The gar- 
dener goes out) 

Victor. I expect he means my knee-pan. I 've heard people say 
that a boy's knee-pan is very delicate and very bad to be cured, when 
it gets hurt. It must be my knee-pan. (He sits down and feels 
of his knee again in order to ascertain whether the knee-pan is 
hurt.) 

James. I think you had better go into the house and have your 
knee bandaged up. 

Victor. Well, I will. Let me lean upon you. 

Scene III. 
Mr. Livery, Mr. Rockaway. 

An office connected with a stable. Mr. Livery at a desk making entries on a slate. 
Whips hanging up against the walls. Mr. Rockaway is sitting on a settee near 
the door. 

Mr. Livery. Yes, I think your new bays make about as fine a 
team as I have seen this long while. 

Mr. Rockaway. They make a splendid team. I shall be careful 
who I let them to, I assure you. 

Mr. Livery. Yes, and I 'm going to be more and more careful 



THE SMASH-UP. 



Scene III. Conversation at the stable. James Steady's character. 

who I let any of my horses to. I am determined that I will not 
have my horses abused. People sometimes say that they '11 pay the 
damage — but that don't help it. A horse is a noble and generous 
animal, and I am determined that I will not have mine abused — pay 
or no pay. 

Mr. Rockaway. Yes, and then there are the carriages. When 
we have got our carriages all put in nice order, and every thing neat 
and trig for service, and then when some harum-scarum fellow, with 
no more brains than a black beetle bumping against the trees in the 
day time, runs on over the stones, or over the jolts, and ditches in 
the road, till he breaks down the springs or the axle-tree — he comes 
and thinks he makes it all right by offering to pay the damage. He 
would not make it right by paying double the damage. 

Mr. Livery. I think so too. I 'm going to weed out my custom- 
ers. I have been plagued by some of them long enough — some 
boys particularly. 

Mr. Rockaway. Yes ? but there are some boys that I would as 
lief let a horse to, as to any man. 

Mr. Livery. Yes. There's James Steady, for instance. My 
horses always come back to the stable when he has them, in just about 
as good order as they go out. And yet he gets over the ground too, 
very fast. He knows just what a horse can do. He lets him go 
ahead on smooth and level ground ; but he never gets him flurried and 
out of wind by driving him fast up hill. He never goes hard over 
a jolt, or over rough ground. I verily believe he would drive a 
wagon ten miles without any tires, and come back with scarcely a 
dint in the felloes. 



56 THE SMASH-UP. 



Scene III. The pony. Victor's reputation. 

Mr. Rockaway. He 's very different from his cousin Victor. 

Mr. Livery. Yes. I 've done with Victor. 

Mr. Rockaway. By the way, I have bought a beautiful black 
cantering pony. He is coming in a few days. I have got him 
expressly to let to boys. 

Mr. Livery. Ah ! won't they like him? 

Mr. Rockaway. He 's as kind as a lamb. He canters, too, so 
easily. Why, he will canter all day just as a dog would trot. 

Mr. Livery. That is exactly what the boys like. 

Mr. Rockaway. But you think I 'd better not trust Victor with 
him? 

Mr. Livery. So far as my interests are concerned I should like 
to have you trust him with the pony. 

Mr. Rockaway. Why so ? 

Mr. Livery. Because I am sure he would soon ruin him, and 
then you would have one less horse to let, and so I should get some 
of your custom. 

Mr. Rockavmy. I suppose he would soon ruin him. 

Mr. Livery. Yes, he would spoil his wind galloping him up the 
hills, or he would sprain his joints scrambling over steep banks, or 
racing over stony ground. Then every now and then he would get 
angry with him and beat him unmercifully, or spoil his mouth twitch- 
ing his head about with the bridle rein. He has done my horses a 
great deal of mischief in that way ; and I 'm determined not to let 
him have them any more. 

Mr. Rockaway. What will you say to him when he comes to 
hire them. 



THE SMASH- UP. 57 



Scene III. End of the conversation at the stable. 

Mr. Livery. {Laughing.) I'll send him to you. I'll tell him 
I have not any horse in, that I can let him have very well, but that 
you have got plenty, and tell him to go to you. 

Mr. Rockaway. And whenever he comes to me, I'll tell him the 
same thing and send him to you. So we will keep him going back 
and forth till he gets tired. 

Mr. Livery. That will be serving him right. I should be will- 
ing to let him have my horses and carriages as much as he pleases, 
if he would only use them properly ; but I am determined that I 
will not have them abused any longer. 

Mr. Rockaway. Neither will I. I am fully determined on that 
point. And unless we are willing to have our horses and carriages 
abused, we must not let them any more to such boys as he. 

Mr. Livery. He has just broken down one of my light wagons, 
and pitched himself out. Luckily for him he fell on the grass. 
They brought him in here in the wagon. At first I thought he was 
hurt a good deal and I examined his knee, but I found it was only 
bruised a little. So he did not hurt his knee so much as he did my 
wagon, but he has smashed up his character entirely. 



-fc' 






53 



THE HOOP AND THE MARBLE. 



Picture of the children trundling the hoop. 




DIALOGUE V. 

THE HOOP AND THE MARBLE; OR, WHOSE IS THE LOSS? 



PERSONS. 



Grandmother, 
Charles, 



Anne, his sister, 

Rtjpus, Charles's playmate. 



Scene I. 



Grandmother, Charles, Anne. 

Scene in a parlor. Grandmother, sitting in a comfortable arm-chair, knitting. 
Enter Charles and Anne from out of doors. Charles has a hoop and stick in 
his hand. Anne follows sorrowfully. 

Charles. We' 11 leave it to grandmother. Grandmother, here's 
cousin Anne that thinks I ought to give her my hoop, because hers 
trundled into the river. Do you think I ought ? 



9 



THE HOOP AND THE MARBLE. 59 

Scene I. The dispute. Charles's statement of the case. 

Anne. Oh, Charles ! It did not trundle in of itself. You trun- 
dled it in. 

Charles. Oh, no, grandmother, I am sure I did not trundle it in. 
It went in itself; it turned round expressly and went in. 

Anne. Oh, Charles, you was trundling it yourself. I'm sure it 
was not my fault at all. 

Charles. {At the same time.) You trundled it, Anne. too. 

Grandmother. Stop children; don't talk so fast and all mixed 
up together. How many stories do you think I can hear and under- 
stand at a time ? 

Charles. Well, grandmother, I'll tell you all about it. 

Grandmother. That's right. Begin at the beginning, and tell 
it straight through. And tell it strong against yourself. Don't 
cover up what is in Anne's favor and make the best of your side ; 
but tell it honestly. 

Charles. Well, grandmother, I'll tell it honestly. This is the 
way it was. You see Anne and I were out in the field playing 
pretty near the bank of the river. Anne would trundle her hoop 
toward the bank, and then run and catch it before it went over. I 
sat on a stone by the bank and looked on. After a while I wanted 
to try it. I did it once very well ; but the second time it went too 
fast ; and before I could catch it, it went over the bank into the 
water ; and so the current floated it away. It was not my fault at 
all. I did not mean to have it go exactly toward the bank ; but it 
turned of itself to go that way. 

Anne. Oh, Charles ! 

Charles. It did truly, grandmother. I did not mean to lose the 



■ 



60 THE HOOP AND THE MARBLE. 

Scene I. The case argued. Decision reserved. 

hoop, and so I do n't think I ought to pay for it. It was only an 
accident. 

Anne. I do n't think it was an accident at all. And besides, you 
borrowed my hoop, and I think you ought to give it back to me. 

Charles. But I can't give it back to you. 

Anne. Then you ought to give me another. 

Charles. But I could not help it. If the hoop was of a mind to 
turn and go toward the river after it began to roll, how could I help 
it ? I ran after it and tried to catch it, but I could not. I came 
very near going over the bank myself. 

Anne. Do n't you think he ought to give me his hoop — or else 
buy me another, grandmother ? 

Charles. But I have not got any money to buy one with, for you. 

Anne. Oh, Charles ! you have got more than a dollar in your 
box. 

Charles. "Well, that is money that I am saving up to buy me a 
watch. I could not possibly spare any of that to buy a hoop with, 
even for myself. Do you think I ought to, grandmother ? I am 
very sorry that I lost the hoop, but I could not help it. It was a 
calamity that happened to us, Anne, and we must bear it as patiently 
as we can. 

Grandmother. Well, children. I can't tell about it all at once. 
I must have time to think. Lend her your hoop a little while, 
Charles, and let her go and play with it, and when she comes in I'll 
tell you what you had better do. 

Charles. Here Anne. Play with it as long as you like. (Anne 
takes the hoop and goes out.) 



THE HOOP AND THE MARBLE. 61 

Scene II. Charles alone. Bufus comes in. 

Scene II. 
Grandmother, Charles. Afterward Rufus and Anne. 

Charles. Now, grandmother, what shall / do ? Could not I go 
out and see Anne trundle the hoop ? 

Grandmother. No, you must stay here. If you go out you and 
Anne will get to disputing about the hoop again. You must play 
here till she comes in. 

Charles. Well. I '11 stay. I can have some fun playing mar- 
bles. {He takes some marbles out of his pocket.) I only wish 
that there was somebody to play with me. 

Enter Rueus. 

Rufus. Halloo, Charlie. 

Charles. Ah, Rufus, is that you? I am glad that you have 
come. I was just wanting somebody to play marbles with me. 

Rufus. Agreed. I 've got my marbles in my pocket. Let us 
shoot birds. 

Charles. Good. Grandmother, we are going to play shoot birds, 
but we will try not to make much noise, and then it will not disturb 
you. 

Grandmother. It will not disturb me if you play happily to- 
gether, and do n't dispute and quarrel. 

Charles. Oh, we won't quarrel. 

( The boys sit down upon the floor at a distance, apart, and 
facing each other. They begin to snap the marbles back and 
forth endeavoring to make them hit each other as they pass.) 



62 THE HOOP AND THE MARBLE. 

Scene II. The marble lost A new question. 



Charles. I almost hit that time. 

Rufus. Now you throw, and let me see if I can hit. 

Charles. I'll throw my alley. You may suppose it is some 
beautiful parrot flying through the woods. 

Rufus. That 's a very pretty alley of yours. I 've got one just 
as pretty. Yours is very true and round. I could hit the ring 
with it almost across the room. Let me try. (Rufus gets up and 
places four marbles in a ring, near one side of the room, and 
then, going off at a distance, snaps the alley toward them. The 
alley rolls off down into a crack under the tvainscot.) 

Charles. There now, my alley is gone. 

Rufus. Oh, I '11 get it. It has not gone far. {The boys get 
down on their knees over the crack, and crowd their heads to- 
gether, trying to see.) . 

Rufus. Charles, your head is in the way, so that I can't see. 

Charles. No, Rufus it is your head that is in the way, so that / 
can't see. 

Rufus. It is a very deep hole. 

Charles. Yes, and my alley is lost entirely. Now Rufus ! 

Rufus. {Looking confused.) Well, Charlie, I am sorry. I 
truly am. I did not know that there was such a great crack here. 

Charles. And now I have not got any alley at all. I think you 
ought to give me yours to pay for losing mine. 

Rufus. Oh, Charles ! / did not lose yours, particularly. We 
lost it together. We were playing together. 

Charles. No, you borrowed my alley to see whether you could 



THE HOOP AND THE MARBLE. 63 

Scene II. Charles and Kufus argue the case. 

not hit the ring across the room, and so you lost it, and now I think 
you ought to pay me for it. Ought n't he, grandmother ? 

Rufus. Why, I did not mean to lose it, Charlie. It was an ac- 
cident entirely. I rolled it out this way, but I did not mean that it 
should go down into the crack. I did not think of such a thing as 
there being any crack there. 

Charles. No matter. You lost it, and you ought to give me 
yours, or else buy me another. Ought n't he, grandmother ? 

Rafus. Don't you think it was an accident, grandmother ? 

Grandmother. Yes, it was an accident ; but whose accident was 
it — yours or Charlie's ? 

Rufus. Why, it was Charlie's, at least it was an accident that 
happened to his marble. 

Grandmother. Ah, but who caused the accident ? That is the 
question. 

Rufus. Well, I suppose I caused it. 

Grandmother. You rolled the marble for your own pleasure ; 
and the general rule is, that whoever gets the benefit must bear the 
risk of loss. I think it ought to be your loss, and not Charlie's. 

Rufus. Then you think I ought to give him my alley ! 

Grandmother. Yes, if he claims it. He can do just as he 
pleases about claiming it. But if he claims it, I think you ought 
to give it to him, or else give him another as good as the one you 
lost. 

Rufus. {Good-naturedly.) Well, I will. Here, Charlie. 
Here it is. I think it is fair, what grandmother says. 



64 THE HOOP AND THE MARBLE. 

Scene II. The two cases decided together. 

Enter Anne with the hoop. 

Grandmother. So, then, that 's all settled. And now, Charlie, 
how about the hoop ? 

Charlie. About the hoop? {Confused.} Yes, there's the 
question about the hoop. Yes. Well — well, after all, grandmother, 
it seems to me that the question about the hoop is pretty much the 
same thing. 

Grandmother. I think so too. 

Charlie. I see it now. I ought to give Anne my hoop, and 
will. You may keep it, Anne. I can buy me another with a part 
of my money. It will only be putting off getting my watch a little 
longer. 

Grandmother. True, and it is much better to go without a 
watch a little longer than to be unjust. 

Charles. And now, grandmother, I suppose we can all go out, 
and play together. 

Grandmother. Yes ; away with you. {Children all go out.) 

Grandmother. {Alone.) They are good children, 'after all. 
When they once understand what their duty is, they are willing to 
do it. 

Scene III. 

Grandmother, Anne, Charles. 

{Enter Anne and Charles, talking to each other.) 
Anne. You go back, Charles. I want to speak to grandmother. 
Charles. But I want to speak to her too. 



THE HOOP AND THE MARBLE. 65 

Scene III. Anne gives up her claim. So does Charles. 

Anne. Well, you shall come presently. I only just want to say 
one word, and then you shall come. {She pushes Charles away 
gently?) 

Anne. (Approaching her grandmother ', with her hoop in her 
hand.) Grandmother, here is Charles's hoop. I have concluded not 
to take it away from him. You said I was not obliged to, unless I 
claimed it. And I don't claim it. I think it was an accident ; and 
so when he comes in, I want you to give him back his hoop, and tell 
him it is all his own as much as ever it was. 

Grandmother. Very well, I will. (Anne goes out. Charles 
comes in. Grandmother hides the hoop behind her.) 

Charles. Grandmother, I think I wont take Rufus's marble. 
He did not mean to lose it ; and I do n't think he was to blame at 
all ; and I do n't care a great deal about it. So I want you to give 
it back to him when he comes in. 

Grandmother. Very well, I'll give it back to him. You have 
a right to keep it if you please ; but you are not obliged to keep it. 
You can bear the loss of the accident yourself, if you choose to do it. 

Charles. Yes, grandmother, I do choose to bear it. So you may 
give him the marble back again. (Charles runs out.) 

Grandmother. That's the kind of children for you ! What a 
happiness they are to me in my old age. 
24 E 



66 



Scene I. 



BOY NOT WANTED. 



Picture of Maria offering to go for the water. 



v% 




DIALOGUE VI. 

BOY NOT WANTED. 

PERSONS. 

George. 

Egbert, George's brother. 

Alphonzo, cousin of George and Egbert ; a lame boy. 

Jeremiah, brother of Alphonzo. 

Johnny, a small boy, brother of Alphonzo and Jeremiah. 

Maria, a small girl, sister of George and Egbert. 

Prudence, a domestic. 

Scene I. 
Egbert, Alphonzo, Jeremiah ; afterward Johnny, Maria, and 

Prudence. 

A back piazza of a country house, opening upon a green and shady yard. Eg- 
bert, Alphonzo, and Jeremiah, getting ready to go into the tvoods nutting. 

A Tphonzo. Where 's George. Egbert ? 



BOY NOT WANTED. 67 



Scene I. Johnny insists on going a nutting. 

Egbert. He's coming pretty soon. He said he would be here in 
five minutes. He was waiting to get a bag. 

Jeremiah. That's right ; and we must get our bag too. But, 
Egbert, you had better go on with Alphonzo. He can't walk quite 
so fast You and he can go on slowly ; and we shall overtake you 
by the time you get to the pasture-hill. I have got to grind my 
knife a little, too, before I go. 

Egbert. Well, come, Alphonzo ; we will go on ahead. You must 
come on as soon as you can. (Egbert and Alphonzo go out.) 
Enter Johnny and Maria. 

Johnny. Where are you going, Jeremiah ? 

Jeremiah. We are going up into the woods a nutting. But firsc 
I have got to sharpen my knife. Will you come and turn for me a 
little? 

Johnny. I mean to go with you. I like to go a nutting. 

Jeremiah. Oh, no, Johnny ; it is too far for you. You are too 
little a fellow to go so far. 

Johnny. No I'm not. I can go as well as any of you. 

Jeremiah. Well, then, at any rate come and turn the grindstone 
for me a few minutes, and help me grind my knife. 

Johnny. Oh, no. I do n't like to turn a grindstone. Besides, 
you do n't want a knife to go a nutting. 

Jeremiah. Yes, Johnny. I want it to cut a pole to reach up 
with, and thrash the nuts off the trees 

Johnny. I think the knife is sharp enough now ; and besides, I 
do n't want to grind it. But I'll tell you. I'll help you grind it, 
if you will let me hold the knife, and you turn. 



68 BOY NOT WANTED. 



Scene I. Contrast between Johnny and Maria. 

Jeremiah. Hoh ! Johnny, you could not do that. 

Maria. (Timidly.} Do you think that I could turn the grind- 
stone, Jeremiah ? 

Jeremiah. Perhaps you could. You may come and try. The 
knife don't want grinding much. And, Johnny, while we are doing 
it, you go up into my room and look into the closet, and bring down 
my beechnut bag. It's on the shelf. 

Johnny. No, I can't go. 

Jeremiah. Ah, yes, Johnny ; that's a good boy. 

Johnny. No. Besides, I can't reach up to that shelf. 

Jeremiah. You can get a chair, Johnny. There's a chair there 
— right by the window. 

Johnny. {In a complaining tone.} No, I can't go. I don't 
want to go. I'm tired. (Prudence appears looking out at the 
window.} 

Prudence. What do you want, Jeremiah ? 

Jeremiah. I want my bag — the one I gather beechnuts in. It 
is up on the shelf in my closet. I wish you would make Johnny go 
and get it for me. 

Prudence. I'll go and get it myself. And I'll look at it and 
see if there are any holes in it; and if there are, I'll mend them. 

Jeremiah. Good! And now, Maria, you and I will go and 
grind the knife. (Jeremiah and Maria go away, and Prudence dis- 
appears from the window.} 

Johnny. {Sitting down upon the piazza, and muttering.) I 
could not go away up all those stairs to get the bag. I'm tired. 



BOY NOT WANTED. 0'9 



Scene IL Johnny makes the boys wait for him. 

Scene II. 
George, Jeremiah. Afterward Johnny. 

A path through the fields, among rocks and hushes. 

Jeremiah. You see, Egbert and Alphonzo went on ahead, be- 
cause Alphonzo could not walk very fast. 

George. How far do you think they have got by this time ? {A 
sound is h^nx, as of some one calling at a distance from be- 
hind.) 

Jeremiah. Hark ! there is Johnny. 

Johnny. {At a distance.) Jer-e-mi-ah! Jer-e-mi-ah! Wait 
for me-e-e-e ! 

Jeremiah. Yes, it's Johnny. What a continual plague he is. 
Let us hide behind these bushes. 

Johnny. (Still in the distance.) Jer-e-mi-ah! Wait for 
me-e-e ! 

Jeremiah. Let 's hide quick. 

George. Oh, let us wait here for him. He likes to go with us, 
poor little fellow ! ( Calling out aloud.) Here we are, Johnny ! 
We'll wait. 

Jeremiah. He is such a great plague. He is always want- 
ing us to do something for him, and he will never do arjy thing 
for us. 

George. He 's old enough to help a good deal. 

Jeremiah. Yes, he 's old enough ; but the things that he wants 



70 BOY NOT WANTED. 



Scene III. Nutting scene on the mountains. 

to do he can't do, and the things that he can do he won't do. Maria 
is worth a dozen of him. She is always willing to do all she can. 
So I told her where we were going, and sent her on forward. We 
shall come in sight of her pretty soon. She always keeps far ahead, 
so as not to make us wait. But Johnny is always lagging behind, 
and then calling upon us to wait for him. 

Enter Johnny. 

Johnny. I don't see what makes you go so fast. 

George. We don't go fast, Johnny. It is you that go slow. 

Jeremiah. Yes. Why did not you go on ahead with Maria, and 
so not keep us waiting ? 

Johnny. Why, I did not think that you would go so fast. I 
stopped to try to catch a bird. 

Jeremiah. To catch a bird ! What nonsense. When we are in 
a hurry to get to the woods, to keep us all back by stopping to catch 
a bird ! But come, hurry on now, and don't keep us waiting any 
more. 

Scene III. 
George, Egbert, Alphonzo, Jeremiah, Johnny, maria. 

The woods. George in a tree, shaking the branches. Egbert below, knocking the 
outer branches of the tree with a long pole. Jeremiah and Alphonzo on the 
ground, picking up the nuts and putting them in a bag. Maria is helping them. 
At a little distance, Johnny is sitting on a stone, singing and striking the ground 
with a switch. A small tin pail is near him, on another stone. 

Jeremiah. (Calling to Johnny.) Come, Johnny, come and 
help us pick up the nuts. 



BOY NOT WANTED. 71 



Scene III. Johnny's idea of his own importance. 

Johnny. {In a careless tone.) Well, I will come pretty soon. 

Alphonzo. {Lifting up the bag.) See, we have got the bag 
half full already. 

Jeremiah. When we get home we will divide them equally into 
as many shares as there are boys. 

George. And Maria, too. 

Jeremiah. Yes, and Maria, too. For she helps as much as any 
body — and Prudence. We will give Prudence some. But not 
Johnny. Johnny does not deserve any share. 

Johnny. Yes I do. 

Jeremiah. Why ? I should like to know. 

Johnny. Because I came up here with you to help get them. 

Jeremiah. Then why don't you help us get them ? 

Johnny. Why, I'm going to pretty soon. 

Alphonzo. I'll tell you what you can do, Johnny. You can go 
down to the spring and bring us up a pail full of good cool water. 

Johnny. {In a fretful tone.) Oh, no. I don't know where 
the spring is. 

Jeremiah. Why, yes, Johnny. You have been there with us 
twenty times. 

Johnny. Yes, but I don't know the way to it exactly. Besides, 
I can't bring water in a pail. It always spills. 
. Alphonzo. Put a leaf on the top of the water, Johnny, and then 
it won't spill. 

Johnny. {Fretfully.) No, I don't want to go. 

Maria. {Running toward the place where Jeremiah and 
Johnny are.) Let me go, Jeremiah. I can go. 



72 BOY NOT WANTED. 



Scene III. Maria goes for the water. A plan formed. 

Johnny. No, you can't, Maria, you are not big enough. You'll 
spill the water all over your dress. 

Maria. But I'll only bring the pail half full. 

Johnny. Then there won't be enough. 

Maria. Ah, but then I'll go again. I can go twice. I should 
like to go, Jeremiah. 

Jeremiah. Well, Maria. That's a good girl. There's the pail. 
Are you sure that you can find the way ? 

Maria. Yes, I know the way. There's a path that leads right 
down to it. {She takes the pail.) 

Johnny. I've a great mind to go too. I believe I will. I'll go 
with you Maria if you'll carry the pail ; because I've got my spanker 
to carry. I call this switch my spanker. (Johnny and Maria go 
out.) 

Jeremiah. Now swhen Johnny comes back he will claim the 
credit of getting that water, and will think he ought to have a big- 
ger share of the nuts than any other boy in the company. 

Egbert. I propose that we go a fishing as soon as we get back to 
the house with our nuts. 

Jeremiah. Agreed. 

Alphonzo. If we can only contrive some way to get off without 
letting Johnny know. 

George. Why, Johnny might help us a good deal. He could 
help us about getting bait. 

Jeremiah. He might help us, but he won't. He don't do us any 
good and is always making trouble. 

Egbert. Then let us go without him. But we will let Maria go. 



BOY NOT WANTED. 73 

Scene IV. Alphonzo's management of Johnny. 

Jeremiah. Yes, but how shall we contrive to get away from 
Johnny ? 

Alphonzo. I will tell you how we will manage it. When we get 
home we will all separate, except that I will keep with Johnny. Then 
you all get your fishing lines, and go one by one, and secretly, round 
behind the corn-barn. We will all meet there. Then I'll contrive 
some way to get clear of Johnny and come there too. 

Egbert. But how about Maria ? 

Jeremiah. I'll take care of her. I can manage with her very 
well. 

Egbert. Then that's all agreed upon ; and now hush ! not 
another word, for they are coming with the water. 



Scene IV. 
George, Egbert, Alphonzo, and Jeremiah. 

A place behind a corn-barn. Egbert is digging the ground, with a small spade, 
to get worms for bait. The others are busy with their fishing lines. 

George. Well, Alphonzo. How did you manage about Johnny ? 

AlphonzG. Oh, I got along exceedingly well. He was sitting on 
the piazza eating nuts, and I asked him to go out in the garden for 
me and get my cap, which I had left on a seat there, next to my 
strawberry bed. I left it there on purpose. I knew he would not 
go and get it for me. So when I asked him to go and get it he said 
that he could not very well. Then I said I should have to go my- 
self. He said he would wait there on the piazza till I came back. 



74 * BOY NOT WANTED. 



Scene IV. Contrivance to take Maria. An argument. 

Then I went and got my cap, and if he waits there till I come back, 
he '11 have to wait a great while. {The boys laugh.) 

George. That was good. And Jeremiah, what did you do about 
Maria ? 

Jeremiah. Why, I could not tell her that we were going a fish- 
ing, because Johnny was there at the time. But I knew that she 
would like to go. She always likes to go with us, and take her 
book with her, and sit on the bank and read, while we fish ; or else 
gather flowers and make bouquets of them. So I asked her to go 
down to the great red gate, which is right on her way, and look 
about there and see if she could find my knife, and I said that if she 
could not find it, she might wait there ten minutes, and I would 
come. If she did not come back in ten minutes, I would come down 
to her. And she is waiting there now I suppose. 

George. Good ! 

Jeremiah. Then I went into the house and got a book for her, 
and also some threads for her to tie up bouquets with. 

George. Excellent ! You managed it very well indeed. 

Egbert. But I don't think you did quite right. You deceived 
them both. 

Alphonzo. No ; I did not deceive any body. I asked Johnny 
to go out into the garden and get my cap. And the cap was really 
there. If he had gone there for it, he would have found it. I did 
not deceive him at all. 

Jeremiah. And I 'm sure I did not deceive Maria. I did not 
tell her that I had lost my knife at the gate. I only asked her to 
look about there, and see if she could find it. I 'm sure she can't 



BOY NOT WANTED. 75 



Scene Y. Johnny can not imagine why the hoys go away and leave him. 

find it, it is true, for it is not lost. Here it is. {He takes his 
knife out of his pocket.) 

Egbert. It seems to me that you deceived her, in making her 
think that you had lost it. 

Jeremiah. But I did not tell her that I had lost it. The only 
thing that I told her was, that I would come down in ten minutes ; 
and that is what I am going to do. Come, it is time to go. Have 
not you got bait enough, Egbert ? 

Egbert. Yes, about enough. Just let me shut my box, and then 
we will go. 

Scene V. 
Johnny, Prudence. 

A yard near the house. Johnny sitting on a step of the door. Prudence at an 

open window. 

Johnny. I can not imagine where the boys have gone. 

Prudence. Have you looked all about for them ? 

Johnny. Yes, I've looked everywhere. I've been in the garden, 
and out in the barn ; and just now I ran over to uncle's, and they 
are not there. 

Prudence. I expect that they have gone off somewhere. 

Johnny. Yes, and left me at home all alone. They are always 
contriving some way to get off, and leave me behind ; and I think it 
is a shame. 

Prudence. It is very strange that they do so. 

Johnny. Yes ; and I think it is a real shame. 



76 BOY NOT WANTED. 



Scene V. Prudence enlightens him on the subject. 

Prudence. Can't you think of any reason for it ? 

Johnny. {Pettishly.) No, there is nH any reason. 

Prudence. They always seem to be willing to have Maria go 
with them. 

Johnny. Yes, and Maria is not any older than I am. I don't 
think they have any right to show such partiality. 

Prudence. Can't you think of any reason why they like to have 
Maria go with them, and don't like to have you? 

Johnny. No ; I can't think of any reason at all ; and I'm sure 
there is not any good reason. 

Prudence. I know what the reason is. It is because Maria is 
always willing to do every thing that she can to help them ; but you, 
on the other hand, are very seldom willing to do any thing. 

Johnny. Oh, Prudence ! I am willing. I always do every 
thing they ask me. 

Prudence. Oh, Johnny ! 

Johnny. Why, I offered to help Jeremiah to grind his knife a 
little while ago, and he would not let me. 

Prudence. Yes, that's just the way. You offered to hold the 
knife on the grindstone, which is something you don't know how to 
do. You always trouble the boys by wanting to do what you are not 
old enough to do ; and then when they ask you to do something that 
you can do, you won't. 

Johnny. Well — well — 

Prudence. And that's the reason why they are not willing that 
you should go with them when they go away to play. That's the 
true reason, you may depend. At least that is my opinion of the 



BOY NOT WANTED. 77 



Scene V. Prudence reasons the case with Johnny. 



matter ; and I advise you to consider it well, and see if it is not 
true. 

Johnny. I don't think it is. 

Prudence. Jeremiah asked you to go and turn the grindstone a 
little for him, and you would not go. 

Johnny. Well, that is because it always tires me so much to turn 
the grindstone. It is such very hard work. 

Prudence. Then he asked you to go up and get his bag, and 
you would not do that. 

Johnny. Well — well — I — 

Prudence. It is of no use for you to try to think of any excuse. 
The real reason is, that you are not willing to help the boys, when 
you might just as well as not ; and that is the reason why they do 
not wish to have you with them, you may depend. (Prudence goes 
aivay.) 

Johnny. I wonder if that is it. I verily believe it is. Yes, I 
truly believe it is. Prudence has got it. And now I'll tell you 
what I mean to do. I mean to do every thing for them I can, and 
then see if they won't like to have me go with them. And besides 
that, if I can help it, I will never make them any trouble. But oh ! 
dear me ! I wish I knew where they have gone. 



78 



8cene I. 



THE ONE-SIDED STORY. 



Picture of Fanny bringing paper for the messenger. 




DIALOGUE VII, 

THE ONE-SIDED STORY. 



Timboo, a domestic. 
Oscar, a boy. 



Carroll, Oscar's brother. 
Fanny, his sister. 



Scene I. 
Oscar, Carroll. 

A place before a barn. Timboo's voice heard within the barn, calling to the 
horses and oxen. Oxen lowing. Horses stamping with their feet. 

(Timboo. Stand still, General, and let me put these oats in 
your crib. Whoa /) 



THE ONE-SIDED STORY. 79 

Scene I. A discussion about kite and twine. 

Enter Oscar and Carroll. 

Oscar. Hark, there 's Timboo in the barn. Let us go in and 
help him pitch down the hay. 

(Timboo. Whoa !) 

Carroll. No. I '11 tell you what we '11 do. We '11 go and fly 
my kite. See, there is a good wind. If you will lend me your 
twine, I '11 go and fly my kite. 

Oscar. No, you lend me your kite and I '11 go and fly it with 
my twine. 

Carroll. Oh dear me ! I wish I had a twine of my own. 

Oscar. Oh dear me ! I wish I had a kite of my own. 

Carroll. I think you ought to lend me your twine, and let me 
fly the kite, for the kite is the most important part. What would 
the twine be good for without a kite ? 

Oscar. Oh no, I think the twine is the most important part. 
What would a kite be good for without a twine ? 

Carroll. {After a pause.) Well, we will do it together. You 
lend me your twine, and I '11 lend you my kite, and we '11 go and fly 
the kite together. 

Oscar. Agreed. 

Carroll. We 11 unite. 

Oscar. Yes, that is the best thing we can do. 

(Timboo' s voice. Stand round, old Goldin /) 
(The boys go off singing :) 

Hi-yo ! ho ! Here we go ! 

Kites go up when the breezes blow ; 

Hi-yo ! for windy weather. 



80 THE ONE-SIDED STOKY. 

Scene II. Fanny calls. She runs to overtake the boya. 

You own the kite, I own the twine, 
You lend me yours, I lend you mine, 
And we will play together. 

(Timboo's voice in the barn. Whoa — stand round, old 
Goldin .0 

Scene II. 

Oscar, Carroll, Fanny. 

A field. Oscar and Carroll sitting on a log. Carroll has the kite in his iap } and 
Oscar holds the twine. 

Carroll. I tell you we had better go up on the hill. There is 
not wind enough here, but there is a first-rate breeze on the hill. 

Oscar. Ah, but there are so many trees there. The string will 
get tangled in the trees, and then I shall lose it. 

Carroll. Oh, no. I '11 risk it. 
(A child's voice is heard in the distance, calling out, Boys /) 

Carroll. Hark ! there 's Fanny. I am sorry she is coming. 

Oscar. Why she will like to see us send up the kite. 

Carroll. Yes, but then she will be in the way. She always gets 
in the way, and then gets all tangled up in the tail. 

Enter Fanny. 

Fanny. Ah, boys, I could not think where you were. I wan't 
to go with you and see you fly the kite. Besides, I can help you. 

Carroll. Help us ! Hoh ! What can you do to help us ? 

Fanny. Why, I can hold the kite, and start it when it is time 
to let it go up ; and besides, I can wind up the twine when you are 
pulling it in. 



THE ONE-SIDED STORY. 81 

Scene III. The philosophy of dealing with weeds. 

Oscar. Let 's let her go, Carroll. 

Carroll. Well, Fanny, I '11 tell you what we will do. We want 
some paper to make messengers of to send up to the kite, and we 
forgot to bring any. Now if you will go home and get some paper, 
we will walk along slowly, and you will overtake us, and then you 
may go with us, and help us fly the kite. 

Fanny. Well. Only you must go very slow. 

Carroll. We will. But you can run, and so you '11 get back all 
the sooner. 

{Fanny runs off one way, and the hoys, carrying the kite and 
the twine, go another.) 



Scene III. 
Timboo, Fanny. 

A garden. Timboo at work hoeing over a walk near a hed of flowers. 

Timboo. Now this bed looks pretty well. I 've done it very 
quick too. The reason of that is, I did not wait till the weeds grew 
large. And what easy and pretty work it is to hoe over this path, 
because the weeds in it are young and tender. 

When weeds are small, 

'Tis easy hoeing ; 
When grass is tall, ( 

'Tis pretty mowing. 
So kill the weeds while they are small, 
And only let the grass grow tall. 
24 F 



82 THE ONE-SIDED STORY. 



Scene IIL Timboo's conversation with Fanny. 

Enter Fanny. 

Timboo. Ah, here comes a young lady. {He boics to her with 
great politeness.) How do you do, Miss Cheveril. I am very 
happy to see you. 

Fanny. Oh, Timboo ! I'm not old enough to be called Miss 
Cheveril. I'm only Fanny. 

Timboo. Yes, you are fairly entitled to be called Miss Cheveril, 
now, though you will lose that name one of these days, I presume. 

Fanny. How shall I lose it, Timboo ? 

Timboo. Oh, you'll be married, I suppose, when you grow up ; 
and then you'll be somebody's wife ; and then I shall have to be 
more respectful to you still. I shall have to make a very low bow, 

and say, How do you do, Mrs. ■ , Mrs. ; let us see ; what 

do you think the name will be ? 

Fanny. No ; you tell me what you think it will be. 

Timboo. Well, perhaps it will be Mrs. Glibjingle ! 

Fanny. (Laughing.) Mrs. Glibjingle ! Oh, Timboo ! Mrs. 
Glibjingle ! Oh, Timboo, what a boy you are ! 

Timboo. Mind, I do n't say that it will really be Mrs. Glib- 
jingle, but only that it may possibly be. If it is, then I shall have 
to make a very low bow when I see you, and say, How do you do, 
Mrs. Glibjingle? 

Fanny. Oh, Timboo, what nonsense ! Besides, I never should 
like any body that was named Glibjingle, I am sure. 

Timboo. At any rate, I'm glad you've come out to see me here. 
But I thought you went out into the field to see the boys fly the 
kite. 



THE ONE-SIDED STORY. 83 



Scene IV. An appeal to Timboo. Two talking at once. 

Fanny. I did, but they got into a quarrel, and so I came away. 
I don't like to play with people that are quarreling. I believe they 
are coming to ask you to settle the dispute, and I think you had bet- 
ter punish them both. 

Scene IV. 
Timboo, Oscar, Carroll. 

Enter Oscar and Carroll, bringing a kite and twine. The kite is broken up, and 
the twine and tail are all entangled together. The boys both speak together. 

Osca?\ Just see, Timboo ! See how Carroll has tangled up my 
twine. 

Carroll. See, Timboo ! Just see how Oscar has broken up my 
kite! 

( Timboo raises his finger and the boys suddenly stop.) 

Timboo. Wait a moment. You did not start exactly together. 
If you want both to speak at once, you must start exactly together. 
Get all ready both of you, and when I say, One, two, three, begin ; 
then both set off at once telling the story and talking as loud and as 
fast as you can. H' 

Carroll. (Vexed.) Nonsense, Timboo! You're only making 
fun of us, and you're always making fun of us. But this is really 
a serious difficulty and we want you to settle it. ~^ 

Timboo. I don't see how I'm ever going to find out what it is 
about. 

Carroll. Why, I'll tell you. 

Oscar. No, I'll tell you. 



84 THE ONE-SIDED STORY. 

Scene IY. Conditions imposed by Timboo. Carroll begins. 

Timboo. You see there is no way of deciding who shall tell the 
story. Then, besides, I do n't believe that either of you is capable 
of telling the story. 

Carroll Why not? 

Timboo. Because whichever of you undertakes to tell it, he will 
only tell what is in his own favor. He will keep back, and hide all 
that is in favor of the other. That is the way that boys always do. 

Carroll No ; I won't do so. Let me tell the story, and I'll tell 
it perfectly fair. 

Timboo. Very well. I'll let you try on this condition : for every 
thing that you keep back, which is in Oscar's favor, and against 
yourself, you shall be punished. 

Carroll. What will the punishment be ? 

Timboo. Whatever I think best. It will be some good sharp 
punishment, you may depend. It will make you smart well. So 
you had better look out, and be honest. 

Carroll. Well, I'll tell the story just as it really was. I won't 
omit any thing at all. You see — (He talks very slowly and earn- 
estly) — You see, Oscar wanted to go and fly my kite — no, we both 
wanted to go, and — so — and so — I lent Oscar the kite and we went. 
Well, we went up on the hill, and Oscar took the string to run with 
the kite and — and — when he was running, the kite was going against 
the tree — and I told him to stop and he wouldn't, and so the kite got 
entangled, and now it's broken to pieces. 

Oscar. And my twine is all tangled up. 

Carroll But your twine can be untangled again, but my kite is 
spoiled; and can never be made good again. 






THE ONE-SIDED STORY. 85 

Scene IV. Carroll is convicted of unfairness. 

Timboo. Well, now Oscar, is that a full and fair statement of 
the case ? 

Oscar. No, I don't think it is. 

Timboo. Very well. Tell me what he has omitted which would 
have been against himself and in your favor if he had told it — while 
I get my black elastic punisher ready. 

(Timboo takes out of Ms pocket a small piece of whalebone, 
about six inches long.) 

Carroll. What is that?* 

Timboo. This is what I am going to punish you with for your 
omissions. 

Carroll. Oh, Timboo ! How are you going to punish me with 
it? 

Timboo. I'm going to snap you with it on the back of your 
head. 

Carroll. Oh, Timboo, that will hurt ! 

Timboo. Of course it will. I mean it to hurt. What sort of 
a punishment would it be that would not hurt ? Now let us hear, 
Oscar. What is it that he omitted ? 

Oscar. Why, he said that he lent me his kite ; but I don't think 
that was exactly right. He agreed to put in the kite, and I was to 
put in the twine ; and so we were going to fly the kite together. 

Timboo. Was that so, Carroll ? 

Carroll. Yes — but that's the same thing. 

Timboo. Not at all. You represented it as if you had simply 
lent him your kite, as a favor to him from you. You kept back the 
fact, that at the same time, he lent you his twine, which made it a 



86 THE ONE-SIDED STORY. 



Scene IV. He submits to his punishment. Effects of it. 

very different affair. So hold round your head. You must have 
three smart snaps for that. 

Carroll. Why, where are you going to snap me ? 

Timboo. Right on the back of your head. 

Carroll. Oh, Timboo ! Well, don't snap hard. 

(Timboo snaps the bach of Carroll's head with his snapper 
three times. Carroll starts and jumps at each snap, and finally 
goes capering about as if in pain. Oscar laughs heartily.) 

Carroll. {With his hand to the back of his head.) Oh, Tim- 
boo, that is too hard. 

Timboo. Not a bit. It takes very hard snapping to get the 
spirit of unfairness out of a boy, in stating cases of dispute between 
himself and other boys. Now, Oscar, what else is there that he 
omitted? 

Oscar. Why he did not say it was his plan to go up on the hill, 
where the trees were, when I wanted to stay in the field. I told 
him that the kite would get lodged in the trees. 

Timboo. Was that so, Carroll? 

Carroll. Why— yes. 

Timboo. Then hold round your head again. 

Carroll. No. 

Timboo. Yes. 

Carroll. No : you've snapped me enough. 

Timboo. Then you break your word. You made an agreement, 
and now you break it, just for fear of a little smart. (Timboo 
snaps his knee with his whalebone.) See ! said he. That's the 
value that Carroll sets upon his word. 



THE ONE-SIDED STORY. 87 

Scene IV. Carroll is convicted again. He is finally pardoned. 

Carroll. Well, snap away ; I'll hold my head. 

(Carroll turns, and Timboo snaps him again. Carroll jumps 
and cuts a caper, and pretends to be in great agony. Oscar 
laughs aloud.) 

Timboo. Now, Oscar, go on. What else did he omit ? 

Oscar. Why, when the kite began to go against the trees, he 
called out to me first, to run as hard as I could ; but when he found 
that the kite would not go clear, then he told me to stop ; and I did 
stop as soon as I could. 

Timboo. Oh, Carroll, that is the worst omission of all. I wish 
I had a bigger snapper. 

Oscar. No, Timboo; you need not snap him any. more. I for- 
give him the rest. Though it is good fun to see him caper about. 

Timboo. Well, if you forgive him, I must let him off, I suppose. 
But it is bad for him. It is very bad indeed for him. The truth is, 
that telling one-sided stories is such an inveterate vice in boys, that 
it takes a great deal of smart snapping to get it out of them. How- 
ever, if you say you forgive him, that is the end of the matter j and 
I may as well put my snapper away. 

Oscar. And what are we to do with our kite and twine ? 

Timboo. Oh, there is no trouble about that. Carry the kite just 
as it is, and lay it in my lodge ; and then this evening, I will take it in 
the kitchen ; and we will untangle the twine, and make a new kite ; 
and all will be well. Only I really don't think that Carroll has been 
punished half enough — and the next time you'll find him telling his 
stories all one-sided again, just as he has done now. 



88 



THE TAMBOURINE. 



Scene I. 



Picture of the boys in the boat 







DIALOGUE VIII. 

THE TAMBOURINE. 

PERSONS. 



Teacher, 

Frank, a pupil, 

Joey, another pupil, 

Sam, Joey's younger brother, 



Lucesda, his sister, 
Mrs. Thomas, Franks mother, 
Mrs. James, Joey's mother, 
Mrs. Pantin, keeper of a toy shop. 



Scene I. 
Frank, Joey, Teacher. 

A school-room. Scholars nearly all gone. Frank at his desk, ciphering. Joey 
sits near, playing with an old book. 

Joey. Come Frank, have n't you got almost through ? 



THE TAMBOURINE. 89 



Scene I. The teacher reproves Joey for abusing his books. 



Frank. (Reading from his slate and then looking into his 
book.) Thirty-six acres and three rods. That's right. Yes, Joey, 
this sum comes right. I've only one more to do and then I'll go. 

Joey. I am going to make a boat. (He tears out a leaf from 
near the beginning of his book.) I may as well tear out a leaf here 
as not. I have got by all this part and so I shall never need these 
leaves any more. 

Teacher.- {Coming to the boys' desk.) Well, boys, have you 
nearly got through your work ? 

Frank. Yes, sir, I have got through. 

Teacher. You have been doing your sums, I see. And Joey 
what are you doing ? 

Joey. I am making a paper boat, sir. I'm going to give it to 
some of the little boys. 

Teacher. That is kind — but how shockingly you use your book. 
You are making your boat out of a leaf that you have torn out of 
it, I see. 

Joey. Yes, sir. You see I have got through all that part of the 
book, and so those leaves are no longer of any use. 

Teacher. Oh, Joey, you do very wrong. It costs your father a 
great deal of money to buy school books for you and for your brothers 
and sisters, and you ought to take better care of them. Look at 
Frank's book, now. 

Joey. Yes. It is almost as good as new. I don't know how he 
keeps his books so nice. 

Teacher. You ought to take care of yours, and if you don't do 
it I shall have to adopt some punishment. I must make some rules 



90 THE TAMBOURINE. 

Scene II. Joey's opinion of a cap for a foot-ball. 

about the boys abusing their books in this way. {Holding up the 
book.) Look. It is really shameful. (He goes away?) 

Joey. I don't see any use in being so careful of school books. 
What's an old school book good for after you have studied it 
through ? 

Frank. I get some good out of mine. But now wait a minute 
till I put my slate and book away, and then I'll go with you. 

Joey. Yes, and we'll go home to dinner. And immediately after 
dinner I'll come to your house to play with you this afternoon. 

Frank. That's right. I'll be out on the piazza. 

Joey. Very well. I'll be there by two o'clock. 



Scene II. 

Joey, Frank. 

A piazza with a green before it. Joey is kicking his hat about the green, and up 
against the house, as if it were afoot-baU. 

Joey. It is just about big enough for a foot-ball, but then it won't 
bound. It wants to be blown up. But how you are to go to work 
to blow up a cap into a round ball I don't know. (He kicks the cap 
again and then goes and gets it and turns it over and over in his 
hands, examining it.) It is time for me to have a new cap — and 
when I get this worn a little more mother will get me one. (He 
gives it another kick.) 

Enter, Frank, along the piazza. 

Frank. Halloo, Joey ! 



THE TAMBOURINE. 91 



Scene II. Discussion about the foot-ball. Learned words. 

Joey. Ah, Frank, you've come ! I've been waiting for you. 

Frank. What are you doing ? 

Joey. I'm trying my cap for a foot-ball, but it won't bound. 

Frank. Why, Joey, that's not the proper way to treat a cap. 
{He takes up the cap, brushes it tvith his hand, and smoothes it 
into shape.) 

Joey. Oh, it's only an old cap. 

Frank. Why, you make it old, prematurely, by abusing it. 

Joey. Prematurely ! Oh ! Grand ! {He struts about in a 
very dignified manner.) Prematurely ! What a learned man I 
am! 

Frank. Yes, prematurely. That means before its time. You 
have not had that cap three months. 

Joey. Well, what is three months for a cap ? Besides, I want a 
new one. I want one of the new kind, like Josy Harvey's. 

Frank. I think, at all events, that a cap is not a fit thing for a 
foot-ball. / 

Joey. Nor I either, for it won't bound. It has no spunk or 
spirit. It flats right up when you kick it. 

Frank. Yes, it collapses. 

Joey. {Laughing boisterously.) Collapses ! Oh, Frank, what 
a learned man ! Collapses ! Prematurely ! Oh the dictionary ! 
Collapses ! 

Frank,. Yes, it collapses. It is not a fit thing to be kicked. 

Joey. I know that it is not good for a foot-ball. But I '11 tell 
you what it is good for. 

Frank. What ? 



92 THE TAMBOUKINE. 



Scene II. Talk about words. A bet offered. 

Joey. For a mark to throw stones at. Throw it up in a tree, 
and make believe that it is a crow. Let's do it now? Will you do 
it ? I stump you to throw at it with me : ten stones apiece, and see 
who '11 bring it down. 

Frank. No. Besides, you should not say stump : you should 
say challenge. There 's no such word as stump. 

Joey. No such word as stump ? 

Frank. No. 

Joey. Then I should like to know what stump is, when I speak 
it, if it is not a word. 

Frank. Ah, but I mean there 's no such proper word. There 's 
no such word in the dictionary. It is nothing but a boy's word. 

Joey. Well, that 's the right kind. I 'm a boy and you 're a 
boy, and when two boys are talking together, they ought to use 
boys' words. Besides, what will you bet that it is not in the dic- 
tionary ? 

Frank. {Hesitating.) I don't know. 

Joey. {Holding out his cap.) I '11 bet you my cap. 

Frank. {Looking contemptuously at Ms cap.) I don't want 
your cap. I would not take it for a gift after you have been kicking 
it all about the yard. 

Joey. {Smoothes out his cap, looks seriously at it, and puts it 
on his head. Then draws a long breath.) Well. I shall have 
another pretty soon. But now about going a fishing. 

Frank. I '11 go a fishing with you if you want to. But, first, I 
must go and change my clothes. 



THE TAMBOURINE. 93 

Scene II. Joey and Frank talks about the way of wearing clothes. 

Joey. Your clothes ! Why, your clothes are good enough — plenty. 

Frank. Yes, of course they are. That 's the difficulty. They 
are too good. I always put on an old pair when I go out in a boat. 
I have tbem all ready, hanging up in the little garret over the back 
shed. 

Joey. Oh, nonsense, Frank ! Go just as you are. It won't 
hurt your clothes to go a fishing. 

Frank. Yes, I always get my clothes more or less soiled when I 
go out in a boat ; or else I have to take so much pains all the time 
to keep from doing it, that it spoils the pleasure. I 'd rather have 
old clothes on, and old shoes and no stockings, and then I can — 

Joey. Then you can put right in. 

Frank. Yes. 

Joey. But that is not my way. I go on and wear out the 
clothes I have, and then get more. Now suppose you wear these 
clothes in a boat ; well, by-and-by they get worn out, and then you 
can have some new ones. You '11 get the new ones all the quicker. 

Frank. Ah, but that is the very thing that I don't want to have 
to do. I want to put off getting new ones just as long as I can. 

Joey. Oh, Frank ! 

Frank. So as to get my chest of tools. 

Joey. What has that got to do with any chest of tools ? 

.Frank. I '11 tell you by-and-by. But now I must go and 
change my clothes. 

Joey. And I '11 go and get my fishing things and the bait. I '11 
meet you down by the little gate in ten minutes, and then we will go 
along together. 



94 THE TAMBOURINE. 



Scene III. Joey is extremely careful of his fishing-pole. 

Scene III. 
Joey, Frank, Sam. 

The shore of a pond. An apple-tree stands near. The boys are preparing to 
get into a boat. Sam is holding a fishing-pole, while Frank and Joey are pet- 
ting the boat ready. 

Joey. Hold it carefully, Sammy. 

Sam. Yes, I will. 

Joey. And keep the cork with the hook in it in your hand, just 
as I gave it to you. 

Sam. Yes, I will. 

Joey. That is a first-rate cork I got, and I 'm very careful of it. 
It is hard to get a good cork. 

Frank. Yes, it is very hard. The only good way is to take a 
cent and go to an apothecary's and buy one. 

Joey. That does not help any ; for it is harder to get the cent to 
buy the corks with, than it is to get a cork without one. (Sam he- 
gins to reach up into the apple-tree with the end of the fishing- 
pole.) Sam, what are you doing? 

Sam. I'm only just going to knock off this apple. 

Joey. No, Sam ! Sam ! No. Not with my pole. You'll split 
the end of it. 

Sam. Oh, no ; I won't. I'm not going to strike it hard. 

Joey. No, Sam ; you must not do any such thing ! You'll 
scratch the pole at any rate against the branches of the tree, if you 
don't split it. I would not have that pole hurt for any thing. 



THE TAMBOURINE. 95 

Scene IV. Mrs. James and Mrs. Thomas in the garden. 

Frank. You seem to be very careful of your pole. 

Joey. Yes. Indeed I am. I had to save money a long time to 
buy it ; and if I get it broken, it will be very hard for me to get 
another. 

Frank. It is a good plan to be careful of it. I like to have my 
fishing things always in good order. 

Sam. {In a complaining tone.) But then how can I get the 
apple ? 

Frank. I'll get it for you, Sammy, in a few minutes. As soon 
as we get the boat ready, I'll climb up into the tree, and shake it 
down. 

Scene IV. 

Mrs. Thomas, Mrs. James, Lucinda. 

A garden with a bower. Mrs. Thomas and Mrs. James are sitting in the bower. 
Mrs. Thomas is knitting. Mrs. James has a book in her hand, in which she has 
been reading. Lucinda is playing with a little rake and a watering-pot, on the 
walk before the bower. 

Mrs. James. And that is the end of that chapter. 

Mrs. Thomas. I think it is quite an interesting book. 

Mrs. James. So do I. Lucinda, my child, where are you ? 

Lucinda. Here I am, mother. I've been watering my flowers ; 
and now I'm going to take a walk. 

Mrs. James. But you must not go far. 

Lucinda. No, mother ; I won't go far. {She goes away, and 
disappears among the shrubbery of the garden ) 



96 THE TAMBOURINE. 



Scene IV. Conversation between the two mothers abont their boys. 

Mrs. James. I have to watch her all the time, or she gets into 
some difficulty or other, and spoils her clothes. 

Lucinda. (Calling.) Mother! 

Mrs. James. What, Lucinda? 

Lucinda. Here's a little bird. 

Mrs. James. Is it a pretty bird ? 

Lucinda. Yes, it is a very pretty little bird. He is hopping 
along the walk. 

Mrs. James. Very well ; let him hop. 

Lucinda. May I try to catch him, mother ? 

Mrs. James. Yes, you may catch him if you can. 

Mrs. Thomas. (To Mrs. James.) Shall we have another 
chapter in our book ? 

Mrs. James. Yes, if you please. Or wait; let me see what 
time it is. I don't know but that I ought to go home. (Calling.) 
Lucinda. 

Lucinda. What, mother? 

Mrs. James. Where are the boys ? 

Lucinda. They have gone a fishing. 

Mrs. James. ( To Mrs. Thomas.) Dear me ! I'm very 
sorry ; Joey always comes back in a dreadful plight when he goes a 
fishing. 

Mrs. Thomas. Frank always puts on an old pair of clothes 
when he goes a fishing. 

Mrs. James. I wish that I could get Joey to do so. But I don't 
know where his old clothes are. He wears them all out. Besides 
if he had any, I don't believe that I could get him to put them on. 



THE TAMBOURINE. 97 



Scene IV. Lucinda makes a discovery. 

Lucinda. (Calling from behind the shrubbery.} Mother! 

Mrs. James. What, Lucinda? 

Lucinda. Here is something under a bush. 

Mrs. James. Very well. 

Lucinda. May I pull it out ? 

Mrs. James. What is it ? 

Lucinda. I don't know, mother ; it looks like a cloth. 

Mrs. James. Well, let it be. You must not touch it. 

Lucinda. But, mother, it is something very particular. I be- 
lieve it is somebody's clothes. 

Mrs. James. ( To Mrs. Thomas.} I wonder if it is not pos- 
sible that it is Joey's jacket. He lost his jacket the other day. ( To 
Lucinda.} Bring it here, Lucinda. (Lucinda comes in, bring- 
ing an old jacket.) 

Mrs. James. Yes, it is his jacket. We looked for it everywhere. 
Joey is so careless about his clothes that I don't know what to do. 
I wish I could find out how you manage to make Frank so careful 
of his. He always looks nice and clean ; and his school-books look 
as good as new. 

Mrs. Thomas. I can tell you how I manage very easily. I give 
him an interest in it. 

Mrs. James. An interest in it. How do you mean ? 

Mrs. Thomas. Why, I arrange it so that if he is careful of his 
clothes, he gets some of the benefit of it himself. And so with his 
books. It is very hard for a boy to be careful of his books and 
clothes all the time, simply from a sense of duty. It is too much to 
expect of him. I don't think I could depend even upon myself to 
24 G 



98 THE TAMBOURINE. 



Scene IV. A discussion between the two mothers. 

be prudent and economical all the time, if somebody else received all 
the benefit of it, and I had nothing to keep me to it except a mere 
sense of duty. 

Mrs. James. No, nor I. But then, boys ought* to be willing to 
take care of their clothes for the sake of their mothers. They make 
us so much trouble by their carelessness. 

Mrs. Thomas. Yes, they ought to be willing, no doubt. It is 
their duty, but it helps them very much in doing their duty if we 
give them an interest in it. 

Mrs. James. But how do you manage to give them an interest 
in it? 

Mrs. Thomas. This is the way. I made an estimate of about 
how much it would cost to keep Frank clothed a year, supposing that 
he takes as much care of his clothes as boys ordinarily do. Then I 
told him that I would give him two pages in my account book ; that 
I would put down on one side, every month, the proper proportion 
of that sum for the month — and that whenever I bought any clothes 
for him, or spent any money on his account for such purposes, I 
would put it down on the other side. Then at the end of the sum- 
mer I would add both sides up, and if it should appear that he had 
taken so good care of his clothes as to have a surplus of money, 
the surplus should be his — to spend in any way that he might 
choose. 

Mrs. James. That's an excellent plan. I never thought of that 
way. 

Mrs. Thomas. At the end of the summer he spends the money 
that he has saved, or he leaves it on interest, and it goes into the 



THE TAMBOURINE. 99 



Scene IV. Mrs. Thomas explains her system of management. 

winter account. This makes the surplus at the end of the winter so 
much more. 

Mrs. James. And how does he get along ? Does he have a sur- 
plus ? 

Mrs. Thomas. Yes, he always comes out with a surplus. 

Mrs. James. And what does he do with it ? Does he spend it all ? 

Mrs. Thomas. No, he spends some of it, and lets the rest stand 
over. He is getting quite a sum accumulated. It is as much as 
fifteen dollars. The first summer the surplus was three dollars. 
The next winter it was one. The next summer five, and so on. I 
increase his allowance every year, and the more he saves, the greater 
I make his allowance. 

Mrs. James. I should not do so. If I found that his allowance 
was more than he needed I should make it less. 

Mrs. Thomas. No ; that would be a very bad way to encourage 
him. The effect of that plan would be to destroy all his interest in 
being careful and economical. I do just the contrary of that. I tell 
him that if he finds that he can not keep within his allowance, I shall 
make it smaller. But that if he finds he can lay up something from 
it, then I will make it a little larger. This encourages him. 

Mrs. James. And how about his books ? 

Mrs. Thomas. In regard to his books I have a different plan. 
I ^gree with him that when he has got through a book at school, so 
as to be done with it, he may sell it at a second hand bookstore, or 
to any body that he can find who wants to buy it, and then he may 
have half what he gets for it, to add to his fund, and he gives me 
the other half. 



100 THE TAMBOURINE. 



Scene V. Sam comes in. Mystery about a shoe. 

Mrs. James. (Sighing.) Well ! I don't know but that is a 
good plan. At any rate I wish that I could contrive some way or 
other to make my boys take better care of their clothes and books. 



Scene V. 
Mrs. James, Sam, Joey. 

A sitting-room. Mrs. James sitting by a window mending stockings. Miter Sam. 

Sam. (Aside.) He has sent me in to tell mother about the shoe 
because he does not dare to come himself. 

Mrs. James. Sam, where is Joey ? 

Sam. He is out in the yard. Or else he's gone out into the back 
shed. He is going to see if he can't find a shoe. 

Mrs. James. What does he want of a shoe ? 

Sam. Why, to wear, mother. 

Mrs. James. But he has got some shoes. What does he want 
to find any more for ? 

Sam. Why, you see mother, he wants two, and he has not got 
but one. 

Mrs. James. Tell me plainly, Sam, what is the matter ; has he 
lost one of his shoes ? 

Sam. No, mother, he has not lost it exactly, but he can't get it 
very well. 

Mrs. James. Why, where is it ? What has become of it ? Tell 
me at once. 



THE TAMBOURINE. 101 



Scene V. J° e Y attempts to explain how he lost his shoe. 



Sam. Why, mother, it is in the pond. It has gone down to the 
bottom. 

Mrs. James. Go out and find Joey and tell him to come in to me 
directly. 

Sam. But, mother, he says he can find another that will do just 
as well. 

Mrs. James. Go out and tell him to come to me. (Sam goes 
out.) 

Mrs. James. How vexatious it is ! A pair of shoes almost new. 
They were bought not a month ago. And now one of them in 
the bottom of the pond. I don't know what I shall do with the 
boy! 

Enter Joey and Sam. 
" Mrs. James. Now Joey, what have you been doing ? Sam tells 
me that you have lost one of your shoes. 

Joey {Eagerly.) Well, mother, I '11 tell you all about it. It 
was not my fault at all. You see, we were going out in the boat 
a fishing. Well, there was some water in the bottom of the boat, 
and so my shoes got muddy. Well, we sailed along, and along ; and 
we went to the island, and coming home we stopped at a place where 
the water was pretty deep. 

Mrs. James. Stop, Joey, I don't want to hear a long story 
about your fishing. Come to the point at once, and tell me about 
the shoe. Where is it ? 

Joey. Well, mother, I 'm coming to the point. Indeed we were 
coming to the point in the boat, when I lost my shoe. We were 
sailing right toward it. We were going to land there. 



102 THE TAMBOURINE. 



Scene V. Joey gives a different account of the matter. 

Mrs. James. Joey, tell me instantly how you lost your shoe. 
That is all that I want to know. 

Joey. Well, mother, I will. We were sailing along, and I saw 
that my shoes were muddy, and I thought I would wash them. I 
thought you would like to have them look clean when I came home 
I was doing it to please you, mother. I was indeed. 

Mrs. James. But tell me how you lost it. 

Joey. Well, mother, I will. I thought I would wash my shoes, 
and so while the hoat was still I put them over in the water, and all 
at once they began to sink. I tried to catch them, but I could only 
catch one of them. The other sank to the bottom. I had no idea 
that they would sink. I thought they would swim. 

Mrs. James. Ah me ! how sorry I am ! Is the water too deep 
there to get it up ? 

Joey. Yes, mother ; it is deeper than the whole length of my pole. 

Mrs. James, Then it is gone forever. And I don't know what 
you will do, for I can't possibly get you another pair at present. 

Joey. But, mother, I 'm sure I can find another shoe out in the shed. 

Mrs. James. Well, go and see. {Joey goes out.) 

Sam. May I go too, mother ? 

Mrs. James. No. You must stay here. I want you to tell me 
if that is the real way that Joey lost his shoe. 

Sam. It is pretty much the real way, but not exactly. 

Mrs. James. How was it then exactly ? 

Sam. Why, I don't think that he was washing his shoe much. 
He was sailing it about for a boat. 

Mrs. James. Oh dear me ! What a boy ! 



THE TAMBOURINE. 103 



Scene VI. Conversation in the toy shop, about purchases. 

Scene VI. 
Mrs. Thomas, Frank, Mrs. Pantin. 

A toyshop. Mrs. Thomas and Frank enter at the door, talking together. Mrs. 
Pantin sits behind the counter sewing. 

Mrs. Thomas. Good-morning, Mrs. Pantin. We have come to 
look at your toys. 

Mrs. Pantin. I am very happy to see you. Look around among 
them as much as you please ; and if you wish for any thing that you 
don't see, if you will ask me, I may have it up stairs. 

Frank. And now, mother, what may I buy ? 

Mrs. Thomas. You may buy any thing you please. 

Frank. What, really ? May I buy really any thing I please ? 

Mrs. Thomas. Yes, you may buy any thing you please, provid- 
ed it is not any thing that would be injurious either to you or to 
other people. I can not let you buy any thing that would be dan- 
gerous for you, nor any thing that would be injurious to other peo- 
ple. But you may buy any thing else you choose. 

Frank. But how do you mean, mother, about being dangerous 
or injurious? 

Mrs. Thomas. Why, if you should wish to buy a pistol and 
some gunpowder, I should not be willing ; for that would be danger- 
ous. So I should object to your buying a bow with sharp, iron- 
pointed arrows, for you might put some boy's eyes out with them ; 
or a drum, for that would make a great noise, and so disturb all the 
neighbors. 



104 THE TAMBOURINE. 



Scene YI. Frank is left almost entirely at liberty. 

Frank. But suppose I wish, to buy something that it would be 
foolish to buy ? 

Mrs. Thomas. That you can do. You can spend your money 
as foolishly as you please, provided you do not buy any thing dan- 
gerous or injurious. 

Frank. Oh, mother! I should not think that you would be 
willing that I should lay out my money foolishly. 

Mrs. Tliomas. I am not really willing. On the other hand, I 
most sincerely hope that you will spend it wisely. But I shall not 
compel you to do so. I will give you my advice if you ask me ; 
but after all I shall leave you to decide. It is your money, not 
mine. I promised it to you, if you would be careful and economical, 
and save it, and now I will keep my promise, and give you full 
power in the spending of it, only that you must not do it in a way 
to injure yourself or others. 

Frank. Well, mother, I won't ask for a drum or a pistol. But 
should you be willing that I should have a tambourine ? 

Mrs. Thomas. Yes. I don't think that a tambourine is too 
noisy. 

Frank. Because, if I can have a tambourine, I can play on it 
and Joey can sing. He can sing a great many funny songs. 

Mrs. Thomas. But I thought that you were going to buy a tool- 
chest. That would be more useful. 

Frank. Yes, mother, but then I've got more than money enough 
for both. {He suddenly sees a jumping Jack among the toys.) 
Oh, mother ! see what a funny jumping Jack. {He takes the jump- 
ing Jack and pulls the cord, and seems very much amused ivith 



THE TAMBOURINE. 105 



Scene VI. The philosophy of the jumping Jack. 

its leaps and contortions^ I should like this jumping Jack, I think, 
mother. • 

Mrs. Thomas. Very well, you can have it if you choose. 

Frank. And do you think that it would be a good plan ? 

Mrs. Thomas. I don't think that it would be a wise purchase. 
But you can have it if you please. It can not harm any body, and 
so you are at liberty to buy it. 

Frank. But why would it not be a good plan to buy it, mother ? 

Mrs. Thomas. Because the pleasure that such a thing gives is 
so soon over. (Frank puts the jumping Jack doivn.) You see 
even now you are tired of it. It looks very funny at first, but the 
funniness is soon exhausted and you lay it aside. 

Frank. But, mother, if it was mine I should take it again other 
days, and it would amuse me a good many times. 

Mrs. Thomas. Yes, but it would amuse you less and less every 
time, and very soon all the amusement in it would be exhausted. So 
I don't think it is a wise purchase. Still, I am perfectly willing 
that you should buy it. 

Frank. But, mother, I should not suppose that you would be 
willing to have me buy it if you think it would be foolish. 

Mrs. Thomas. Why, you see you would learn a useful lesson by it. 
That is one reason why I give you so much liberty in making your pur- 
chases, for if they don't do you good in any other way, you will learn 
wisdom by them. I'd rather you would learn wisdom now while you 
are a boy, in spending small sums of money foolishly, than to have you 
wait and learn it when you are a man, for then the money wasted would 
be a great deal more, and the consequences would be more serious. 



106 THE TAMBOURINE. 



Scene VL The purchase of the tambourine and of the chest of tools. 

Frank. Well, mother, I believe I won't buy a jumping Jack. 
But do you think it would be a good plan to buy a tambourine ? 

Mrs. Thomas. Yes, if you fancy having one. That is a thing 
that you can use, and so the good that you can get out of it will be 
more permanent. But it depends upon the price a little. Mrs. Pan- 
tin, have you got any tambourines? 

Mrs. Pantin. Yes. I have got some very pretty ones for a dol- 
lar. Here is one of them. (She gives Mrs. Thomas a tambourine.) 

Frank. Ah, that is just the thing. I should like to buy that, 
mother. (He takes the tambourine and begins to play upon it, 
and sing.) 

Mrs. Thomas. Stop, stop. You must not sing here. Wait till 
you get it home. Mrs. Pantin will tie it up for you in a paper. 

Frank. And now, mother, for my chest of tools. 

Mrs. Thomas. Ah, yes. But we must go to the hardware store 
for that. 

Frank. Yes, we must go to a hardware store. I suppose I can 
get a good one for three dollars. That, with the tambourine, will 
make four dollars. I mean to be as careful as I can of my clothes 
and books the next quarter, and see if I can't make it all up again, 
and more too. 

Mrs. Thomas. I hope you will. I like to have you learn to 
practice prudence and economy, and I like very much to have your 
disposition to practice them based on actual experience, now while 
you are young, of the beneficial results which always flow from them. 
In this way these qualities will become firmly established as perma- 
nent traits in your character. 



THE NEW KNIFE. 



107 



Scene I. 



Picture of Nathan and Ellie talking with their father. 



^?r- ^ 




DIALOGUE IX. 

THE NEW KNIFE. 

PERSONS. 



Grandfather, 

Father, 

Nathan, an older brother, 



Ellie, a younger brother. 
Uncle James, 
Bridget, a domestic. 



Scene I. 
Grandfather, Father, Nathan, Ellie. 

A parlor. Nathan and Ellie's father and grandfather sitting by the fire, engaged 
in conversation on business. Enter Nathan and Ellie, who wait for an op- 
portunity to speak to their father. 

Father. I rather think he will be willing to do that. 
Grandfather. Well, perhaps he will. 



108 THE NEW KNIFE. 



Scene I. Their fathers reasoning about the knife. 

Ellie. (To Nathan aside.) Nathan, I wish I had a new knife. 

Nathan. I wish you had too ; and I wish father would tell us 
whether he is going to ride this evening or not. (The boys go and 
stand near their father.) 

Father. If not, then we can make him the other proposition. 

Grandfather. Yes, we will. 

Father. ( Turning to the boys.) Well, boys, what do you want 
to say to me ? 

Nathan. I want to ask, father, if you would not be kind enough 
to give Ellie money to buy him a knife ? 

Father. Yes. That I can do. How much will it cost ? 

Ellie. Half a dollar. And I've got a quarter of a dollar now ; 
so I only want you to give me a quarter of a dollar more. 

Father. But I'm afraid that that is too expensive a knife ; is not 
it? You may lose it ; and then you'll wish you had the money again. 

Nathan. But, father, we can't get a good knife for less than half 
a dollar ; and he'd rather have a good one than a bad one. 

Father. Well, Ellie, here's the quarter of a dollar. You may 
go and see how good a knife you can get. 

Ellie. Good ! Come, Nathan. 

Scene II. 

Uncle James, Nathan, Ellie. 

Another parlor Uncle James sitting by the fire. Nathan leaning on a table, 
and looking over a booh Ellie sitting on a footstool, with a new pocket-knife in 
his hand. 

Ellie. Uncle James, see ! 



THE NEW KNIFE. 109 



Scene II. How to break a knife. How to make it dull. 

Uncle James. What is it ? A new knife. Bring it to me, and 
let me see it. Where did you get such an excellent new knife as this ? 

Elite. Why, I bought it. I had a quarter of a dollar ; and my 
father gave me enough to make up a half of a dollar. I spent two 
cents of it for candy The price of the penknife was half a dollar : 
but Mr. Linscott said he did not care any thing about the two cents ; 
and so he let me have it for forty-eight cents. 

Uncle James. It is a first-rate knife. And now I'll tell you 
what you had better do. You take this blade {lie opens the little 
blade) ; and then you take a board and begin to bore a hole in it. 
You pry about a little, as you bore, to dig out the wood, and pretty 
soon snap goes your blade, about there. {He shows the place on the 
blade.) The blades of boys' knives are generally broken off about 
there. 

Ellie. Oh, uncle ! 

Nathan. (Taking out his own knife.) See, uncle, my little 
blade is not broken off. 

Uncle James. (Takes the knife, looks at the little blade, and 
then opens the great blade, and finds the edge of it broken 
and jagged like the teeth of a saw.) No — but then here's 
the other blade with the edge all broken up like a saw. I'll tell 
you how to do that, Ellie, with your knife. As it is now, the edge 
of your great blade is sharp and smooth ; but you can easily make it 
like Nathan's. I'll tell you how. You pick up some stick or other 
about the yard, that has got a nail in it. You go to whittling the 
stick ; and before long you come against the nail, and then away 
goos the edgo. Thus in five minutes, and with very little trouble, 



110 THE NEW KNIFE. 



Scene II. How to make the joint wear out soon. 

you have your knife notched like a saw. And if you onoe get it 
notched, you can keep it so very easily, for it is very hard work to 
grind it sharp again. 

Elite. But I don't want it notched. 

Uncle James. Yes — that is the fashion. Almost all boys have 
their knife-blades notched like a saw. And it is very easy to do. It 
is not necessary to take a great deal of pains to find a stick with a 
nail in it. All you have to do is, to go to cutting any stick you take 
up, without looking to see what there is in it ; and sooner or later 
you'll come upon a nail. 

Ellie. Ah, uncle ! you 're only in fun. I'm determined not to 
cut any sticks with nails in them at all. 

Uncle James. And there is one other thing. Be careful not to 
let any little drop of oil get into the joint of your knife. If you do, 
it will make the joint go smooth and easy, and prevent its wearing 
away the square corners there which give sharpness to the spring. 
If you don't let any oil get in there, pretty soon the joint will make 
a grating noise every time you open and shut the blade ; and the 
steel will wear away ; so that before long the joint will become so 
loose, that you can shake your knife open whenever you want to use 
it — which will be very convenient. 

Ellie. Oh, uncle ! no such thing. 

Uncle James. Some boys have a nice way of leaving their knife 
out on the step of the door, or some such place ; and then the dew 
falls upon it, and rusts it at the joint so that you can't open it at all. 
There is a great advantage in this — for if you can't open your knife 
at all, there is no danger that you will cut your fingers with it. 



THE NEW KNIFE. Ill 



Scene II. Ellie concludes that he will not follow his uncle's advice. 

Enter Bridget, a servant girl. 

Bridget. Mr. James, there is a gentleman at the door, who 
wishes to see you a moment. 

Uncle James. Tell him that I will come out. So here, Ellie, 
take your knife. (He rises to go.) Have you got a good hole in 
your pocket ? 

Ellie. No j my pockets are tight — both of them. 
Uncle James. Then you'll have to contrive some other way to 
lose your knife. However, you can do it by leaving it about the 
house, anywhere, and then forgetting where. Though the best way 
is to lay it down in the grass when you are cutting with it in the 
field. Or, if you choose, you can go showing it about to all the boys ; 
and then some of them will borrow it ; and they will lose it for you, 
and so save you the trouble. (Uncle James goes out. ) 

Ellie, (After a little pause.) I am determined I won't do any 
of those things he has been telling me. I am positively determined. 
And I mean to go out now, and get Bridget to give me some oil ; 
and I'll put a little drop of it into the joint. 

Nathan. So I would. That's the very best thing you can do. 

Ellie. And I am determined that I will not cut any sticks, unless 
I am first sure that there are no nails in them. 

Nathan. That's right. 

Ellie. Nor bore any holes with the point of the little blade. 

Nathan. Thaf's a good resolution too. 

Ellie. Nor ever leave my knife out in the wet. 

Nathan. That is right. If you keep all these resolutions, your 
knife will always be safe and in good order. 



112 



NO ENCOURAGEMENT. 



Scene L 



Picture of Julia fallen asleep at the fireside. 




- ' ^.<?^S^<^. y '4J7t/:" . ■" - K " . ~ " ' "•' S i?^-- 



DIALOGUE X. 

NO ENCOURAGEMENT. 



PERSONS. 



Mr. St. George, 
Mrs. St. George, 
Julia, their daughter, 



Mrs. "Warren, 
Anna, her daughter, 
Susan, a domestic. 



Scene I. 
Mrs. St. George, Julia. Afterward Susan. 

A 'parlor in a handsome hotel at New York. Mrs. St. G-eorge arranging a small 
tea-table. Julia playing with blocks upon the floor. 

Mrs. St. George. Come, Julia, put away your blocks. It is 
almost time for your father to come home, and he never likes to see 
a litter on the floor. 



NO ENCOURAGEMENT. 113 



Scene I. Mrs. St. George's way of encouraging Julia. 

Julia. Well, mother ; as soon as I have finished this tower. 

Mrs. St. George. No, Julia, you must put them away now. 
{She goes to Julia, throws down her tower, and pushes the blocks 
into a heap.) Put them into the basket, directly. (Julia begins 
to put the blocks into the basket, sidlenly.) 

Mrs. St. George. And now I'll ring for Susan. {She rings a 
little bell.) 

Enter Susan. 

Susan. Did you ring, Mrs. St. George ? 

Mrs. St. George. Yes, Susan. Is every thing ready for tea ? 

Susan. Yes, ma'am. 

Mrs. St. George. Be sure to have every thing right ; and let 
the tea he all ready to draw the moment Mr. St. George comes. 

Susan. Very well, ma 'am, I will. 

Mrs. St. George. And, Susan, take Julia's basket of blocks and 
put them away ; and Julia, you must bring your book and sit down 
here in your little chair and be still, and not interrupt your father 
while he is reading his paper. 

Julia. But, mother, I have not got any book. 

Mrs. St. George. Why, take your geography, or your grammar, 
or some of your school books. l r ou ought to be more interested in 
your studies. It's nothing but story books or picture books that you 
care for. You are eight years old, and you are so backward in your 
studies that I am beginning to be quite ashamed of you. Almost all 
the girls of your age are further advanced than you. 

Julia. Oh, dear me! {She takes a book and sits down Usi- { 
lessly by the fire.) 

24 H 



114 NO ENCOURAGEMENT. 



Scene I. Mrs. St. George makes preparations for her husband. 

Mrs. St. George. (To herself.) I'll get Edward's slippers and 
have them all ready for him, and the evening's paper too. (She 
holds the paper to the fire to air and dry it, then folds it up and 
lays it upon the tea-table.) And the room, too, I'll have in nice 
order. (She arranges the chairs, stirs the fire, brushes the hearth, 
and then looks round with an air of satisfaction.) 

Julia. Mother, I think it would be a good plan to send out and 
get some wafer jumbles for father for his supper. He likes wafer 
jumbles for his supper, very much. 

Mrs. St. George. That's an excellent idea. I will. (She rings 
the bell.) 

Julia. (To herself) Perhaps he'll give me one of them. 
Enter Susan. 

Mrs. St. George. Susan, here's a shilling. (She takes a shil- 
ling from her purse.) Go to the baker's round the corner and get 
a dozen wafer jumbles, and bring them up when you bring the tea. 
(Susan takes the money and goes out.) 

x Scene II. 

Mr. St. George, Mrs. St. George, Julia. 

The same. Mr. St. George, seated before the fire. 

Mrs. St. George. Are you very tired to-night, Edward ? 
Mr. St. George. Yes, I'm very tired, and very warm. You've 
# got too much fire. There's no need of so much fire such weather as 
this. Julia, my child, open the window a little way. 



r 



NO ENCOURAGEMENT. 115 



Scene II. Miv St. George's way of encouraging his wife. 

Mrs. St. George. I will open it, Julia. {She opens the windoiv. 
Mr. St. George draws his chair up to the tea-table and pushes 
the slippers away with his foot.) There, Julia, jou may put these 
slippers in the closet. They are only in the way here. 

Mrs. St. George. But, Edward, I thought that you would wish 
to put them on, and so I got them all ready for you. 

Mr. St. George. No. I am going out again, after tea. Besides, 
I can always get them when I want them, out of the closet. Is n't 
tea nearly ready? 

Mrs. St. George. Yes, Susan was only waiting for you to come 
in, to draw it. I rang for her when you came, and she will bring it 
up directly. 

Mr. St. George. I hope she will, for it is tiresome waiting for 
it so long. (He takes the paper from the table and throws it 
over upon the sofa.) 

Mrs. St. George. Why, Edward, that 's the evening paper. 

Mr. St. George. I know it is, but I don't want to see it. The 
papers are so dull now-a-days. {Enter Susan with a waiter con- 
taining the tea, cakes, etc.) Ah, here comes the tea at last. 

Mrs. St. George. I am sorry it did not come so soon as you 
wished. {She pours out the tea, and passes the cup to him. He 
tastes it, and seems dissatisfied.) Is not it right ? 

Mr. St. George. It is very weak — very weak indeed. I like to 
have some taste to my tea. {He tastes it again, and puts down 
the spoon.) 

Mrs. St. George. Then it is because it has not drawn long 
enough. I '11 let it stand a moment, and then give you another 



116 NO ENCOUKAGEMENT. 



Scene II. The tea. The cakes. The Colonel's wife. 

cup. ((She pours out the tea from Mr. St. George's cup into a 
howl.) 

Mr. St. George. What are those ? Wafer jumbles ? 

Mrs. St. George. Yes. I thought perhaps you would like 
them. 

Mr. St. George. No, not particularly. I wish you could teach 
Susan to make waffles. I took tea with the Colonel the other night, 
and his wife had some delicious waffles. Indeed the Colonel's wife is 
a model. She always has something nice and new upon the table. 
It is really a pleasure to be invited there to dinner or to tea. But I 
believe I can not wait any longer for my tea. (He holds out his 
cup to have it filled again. Mrs. St. George fills it, and he 
tastes it. After sipping a little, he puts the cup down.) 

Mrs. St. George. Is n't it right now, Edward ? 

Mr. St. George. {Pushing the cup away from him.) No ; 
but it is of no consequence. 

Mrs. St. George. (Looking concerned.) What is the matter 
with it, husband ? 

Mr. St. George. It has got cold. And I think that, of the two, 
cold tea is more insipid than weak tea. But never mind ; let Susan 
come and take the things away. I am going out this evening, and I 
can step in somewhere and get a cup of tea. (Mrs. St. George rings 
the bell. Susan enters.) 

Mrs. St George. (In a trembling voice.) Susan, you may 
take away the tea things. 



NO ENCOURAGEMENT. 117 

Scene III. Julia's song to her baby. 

Scene III. 
Mrs. St. George, Julia. Afterward Susan. 

TJie same apartment Julia has a doll in her lap, which she is trotting upon her 
Tcnee. A little cradle near. Mrs. St. G-eorge is sitting by the table near the fire, 
leaning her head upon her hand, in a disconsolate attitude. 

Mrs. St. George. (To herself.) Oh dear me! I wish Ed- 
ward — 

Julia. (In a low tone to her doll.) Hush-sh-sh ! Hush-sh- 
sh ! (She sings } keeping time with the trotting of her Tcnee :) 

Upon my knee my baby lies, 

Shut your eyes 1 shut your eyes ! 
You must not look to see me, but 
Shut your eyes and keep them shut. 

I can net trot the baby long, 

Sing a song ! sing a song ! 
You must not wink, and try to peep, 
But shut your eyes and go to sleep. 

Mrs. St George. Come, Julia, it is time for you to learn your 
lesson. You must put your doll away this minute, and take your book. 

Jidia. (In a low and whispering voice.) In one minute, 
mother. Angelina is almost asleep. Hush-sh-sh ! She '11 be 
asleep in a few minutes, and then I '11 come. 

Mrs. St. George. No, Julia, you must come now. You take no 
pleasure in any thing but play. And you 're getting so backward 



"— 



118 NO ENCOURAGEMENT. 

Scene IIL Julia tries hard to write her exercise. 

in your studies that I really am ashamed of you. All the girls of 
your age are more forward than you. (Mrs. St. George goes to 
Julia, takes the doll from her, and puts it in the cradle, and 
takes the cradle away.) There, you 've played with the doll long 
enough. Get your slate and your book, and take your seat and 
study your lessons. 

{She gets a book and a slate, and sits down in a little chair 
by the fire. Mrs. St. George at the same time opens her icork- 
table, and seats herself at her sewing.) 

Julia. {To herself.) Now the first thing is to copy off ten 
long words on the slate. The teacher said we might get as long 
words as we pleased. I mean to write mine just as well as I can. 
{She looks into her book.) There 's a good long word — dif — dif — 
difference. I '11 write that. Two f s. I must not forget the two f's. 

Mrs. St. George. Don't keep talking so all the time. Can't you 
study without talking ? (Julia writes in silence.) 

Julia. There ! {She puts her fingers suddenly to her lips, as 
if to stop her talking, and then looks again in her book.) 

Mrs. St. George. What are you doing, Julia? What is your 
lesson ? 

Julia. I am writing down words on the slate. I am going to 
write ten. I have written one, but the next one is Washington, and 
it begins with a W, and I don't know exactly how to make a W. 
Could you spare the time, mother, to make one for me on the slate, 
to show me how ? 

Mrs. St. George. Come here and let me see your slate. What 
i3 that first word ? 



NO ENCOURAGEMENT. 119 



Scene III. Her mother's mode of teaching her. 

Julia. That is difference, mother. 

Mrs. St. George. What shocking writing ! nobody would ever 
know what word that was intended for. What are those two long 
scrawls for ? 

Julia. Why, mother, those are the f's. There must be two f's 
and so I made two. But if they are too long I will rub out part of 
them. (She wets her fingei* to rub out part of the /'s.) 

Mrs. St. George. Stop, stop, that will only make the matter 
worse. I should think you could write better than that. 

Julia. Why, mother, it is only because I am just beginning to 
write. 

Mrs. St. George. Such a large girl as you are ! 

Julia. (Timidly.} I'm only eight, mother. 

Mrs. St. George. Then, besides, I don't see what good it does 
you to write a list of long unmeaning words. 

Julia. Why, the teacher gave that to us, for a part of our lesson. 

Mrs. St. George. The teacher ought to know better than to give 
you such a lesson. 

Julia. (After a pause and sighing.} But, mother, it is the 
only teacher I have got — and I don't know what I can do. 

Mrs. St. George. Well, go back to your place and finish the 
lesson, and you must find some other word to write. I can't leave 
my work now to show you how to make a W, and you must take 
care and learn immediately how to make all the letters for your- 
self. 

Julia. (Goes back to her seat, and continues her writing.) If 
I could only find out how to make them ! 



120 NO ENCOURAGEMENT. 

Scene IK. Susan sent -with an invitation to Mrs. Warner. 

Mrs. St. George. And what is the next thing that you have got 
to do, after writing your ten words ? 

Julia. The next thing is to write a little sentence on the slate. 
We have got to make up the sentence. The teacher said we might 
tell in it what we saw, when we were coming home from school. 

Mrs. St. George. Well, that's a more sensible thing. Let the 
rest of the words go, and begin your sentence now. 

Julia. Well, mother, I will. (Mrs. St. George rings the table 

bell.) 

Enter Susan. 

Mrs. St. George. Susan, do you know whether Mrs. Warner is 
at home ? 

Susan. Yes, ma 'am, I think she is. 

Mrs. St. George. Go up to her room and present my compli- 
ments to her, and ask her if she can not come down and sit with me 
an hour this evening. Tell her that Mr. St. George has. gone away 
and that I am all alone. 

Susan. Yes, ma'am, I will. {She goes out.) 

Julia. Mother, will you tell me, please, how to spell carriage ? 

Mrs. St. George. Why, what do you want to know that for ? 

Julia. Because I want to say in my sentence that I saw a car- 
riage in the street, when I was coming home. 

Mrs. St. George. And you don't know how to spell it. I should 
be ashamed if I were such a great girl as you and not know how to 
spell such a common word as carriage. It is c-a-r-r-i-a-g-e. But 
after this you must not interrupt me by asking so many questions 
You are asking questions of me the whole time. 



NO ENCOURAGEMENT. 121 

Scene III. Poor Julia gets discouraged. She falls asleep. 

(Julia tries to write carriage, but she can not remember all the 
letters of the spelling of it, and looks discouraged. Presently she 
sighs and lays down her pencil.} 

Enter Susan. 

Susan. Mrs. Warner says that she is assisting Anna a little 
about her lessons, but that she will come down in half an hour. 

Mrs. St. George. Very well. 

(Julia sits with her slate and her book in her lap, looking list- 
lessly into the fire, and presently begins to trot the slate, as she 
had done the doll, and to sing in a low undertone, 

Upon my knee my baby lies, 

Shut your eyes — shut your eyes. 
You must not look to see me — But, 
But — (she nods, and presently falls asleep?) 

Mrs. St. George. {After a pause.) Julia ? 

Julia. {Starting up.) What, mother ? I am not asleep. I'm 
not sleepy a bit. 

Mrs. St. George. But it is time for you to go to bed. Besides. 
I expect company pretty soon, and so you must go to bed now. I 
don't suppose that you have done your lesson. You idle away so 
much time. {She rings the bell.) I'm afraid you never will learn 
any thing. {Enter Susan.) Susan, take Julia and put her to bed. 

Susa?i. Yes, ma'am. 



122 NO ENCOURAGEMENT. 

Scene IV. Anna's readiness to begin her work. 

Scene IV. 
Mrs. Warner, Anna. 

A small parlor in the same hotel. Mrs. Warner by the fire in a comfortable arm- 
chair, with a book in her hand. Bright lamp on the table By the side of the 
table, in a small chair, sits Anna, with a slate in her hands. She is in such a 
position that the lamp can shine down upon her slate, as she works. 

Mrs. Warner. It is not quite time for you to begin your lesson 
yet, Anna. You might play a little while longer. 

Anna. Yes, mother. I know I might ; but I thought I would 
begin writing the words. We are going to write some long words — 
any long words that we can find in a book. But I don't know how to 
make all the letters ; and it will interrupt you if I ask you to show 
me, for you are going to read. 

Mrs. Warner. No ; it will not interrupt me much, if you manage 
right. When you want to speak to me, just stand up as usual, and 
I shall see you ; and then when I get to the end of my sentence, I 
will speak to you. In that way, it will not interrupt me at all — at 
least, not so as to do any harm. Let me see your slate. 

Anna. {Giving her mother the slate.) I have not written them 
very well. 

Mrs. Warner. Why, you have written two of your words al- 
ready ! 

Anna. Yes, mother ; I wrote those when I first came home, just 
to see how I could do it. 

Mrs. Warner. You have done it very well indeed. 



NO ENCOUKAGEMENT. 123 

Scene IV. Anna comes very near making a good g. 

Anna. I could not write them plain enough. 

Mrs. Warner. Yes, you have written them very plain indeed, 
for a person just beginning to write. I know a good many of the 
letters. That is an i. I know it by the dot ; and there 's another i, 
and there 's another. Some children, who are careless, forget the 
dot over some of their i's ; but you have put it over all yours. Then, 
that last letter is a q. 

Anna. No, mother ; that is a g. 

Mrs. Warner. Ah, then the tail of it is wrong. You ought to 
turn the tail the other way for a g. I ought not to say it is wrong, 
for it is really right as you have it ; that is, it is right for a q, but 
not for a g. That is a very hard thing to remember — which way to 
turn the tails of some of the letters ; but it will all come to you very 
soon, if you go on trying carefully, as you do now. That tall let- 
ter I suppose is an 1, or else a b. 

Anna. It is an 1. 

Mrs. Warne?\ You see it must be made pretty well, for me to 
know without being told, within one of what it was. And what is 
the whole word ? 

Anna. Whirligig. I meant it for whirligig. 

Mrs. Warner. Ah, that's a very hard word to write. I should 
not have thought you could have written such a hard word so well. 
I could almost read it myself, without your telling me what it was. 

Anna. I mean to try the next word, and see if I can not write 
so that you can read it entirely. 

(Anna sits down, and resumes her work. Mrs. Warner begins 
to read, hi a minute or two Anna stands up. Mrs. Warner goes 



124 NO ENCOURAGEMENT. 



Scene IV. Mrs. "Warner's minute instructions. 

on reading for a few minutes without appearing to notice her, 
and then raises her eyes from her book.) 

Mrs. Warner. Well, Anna ! 

Anna. Could you show me, mother, how to make a v — a large V ? 

Mrs. Warner. Yes; bring me your slate. {She takes the 
pencil and writes, Anna looking over.) First we make a little 
sort of a crinkle like that ; and then we go up to a point, so, and then 
come down by a straight mark — down to the line — so. Now take 
the pencil, and see if you can do that. (Anna takes the pencil and 
ivrites.) 

Anna. There. 

Mrs. Warner. Yes, that's very well. That is the first half of 
the v. Now comes the last half. You begin at the bottom, and go 
up again a little way off from the first line, and end in a sort of 
curl — so. 

Anna. Yes, mother, now I see. Let me finish mine. {She 
takes the pencil, and finishes her own V.) 

Mrs. Warner. Yes, that is very good. Now sit down and make 
ten V's, carefully, comparing each one with mine as you make it. 
By that time you will learn to make them very plain. After you 
have made ten, look them over, and choose out the best one — the 
one that you think looks the most like mine, and save that for me 
to see by-and-by, when you have done your lesson. The rest you 
can rub out. 

Anna. Yes, mother, that I'll do. 

Mrs. Warner. Is there any other question you think of now, 
that you wish to ask me before I begin reading again ? 



NO ENCOURAGEMENT. 125 

Scene IV. Mrs. "Warner's mode of teaching Anna to spell her words. 

Anna. Only if you would tell me how to spell locomotive. We 
have got to write what we saw coming home from school ; and I am 
going to write that I saw a locomotive, only I don't know how to spell 
locomotive. If you'll tell me now, I'll write it on the side of my slate ; 
and then I can copy it into my sentence, by-and-by. 

Mrs. Warner. Very well ; get ready. 

Anna. (Getting ready to write.) Now. 

Mrs. Warner. L-o. (Anna begins to write the first syllable, 
and while she is writing it, Mrs. Warner goes on with her reading. 
She writes slowly and carefully, and when she has finished, she 
speaks the last letter, to let her mother know that she is ready for 
the next.) 

Anna. 0. 

Mrs. Warner. C-o. 

Anna. (After a pause, during which Mrs. Warner continues 
her reading^) 0. 

Mrs. Warner. M-o. 

Anna. (As before.) O. 

Mrs. Warner. T-i-v-e. 

Anna. (As before.) E. 

Mrs. Warner. That is all. I can tell you how to spell any 
word in that way, without any trouble. Indeed, when I see you 
trying so patiently and succeeding so well, in learning to write, it is 
a pleasure to me to help you. I think what a good time I shall have 
by-and-by in reading the pretty little notes and letters that you will 
write me. (She kisses her. Anna looks very much pleased, and 
resumes her work.) 



126 NO ENCOURAGEMENT. 



Scene IV. The visit. Mrs. St. George's complaints. 

Scene V. 
Mrs. St. George, Mrs. Warner. Afterward Susan. 

The same apartment as in Scene I. Mrs. St. George and Mrs. Warner by the 

fireside at work. 

Mrs. St. George. You see I get so discouraged. I don't know 
what is the matter with Edward. I do all I can, but nothing seems 
really to please him. 

Mrs. Warner. That is discouraging. 

Mrs. St. George. When any thing goes in the least wrong, then 
he finds fault ; but when every thing is all right, and I have taken 
the greatest pains to make it so, then he does not say any thing at all. 

Mrs. Warner. Perhaps he is thinking of his business or some- 
thing. 

Mrs. St. George. If he would only just show that he was pleased 
with me sometimes, it would do me so much good. 

Mrs. Warner. Yes, I know. 

Mrs. St. George. But it is so hard to go on trying and trying, 
and never to get the least encouragement or sympathy. {Enter 
Susan with a candle. She places the candle on the table, and 
puts it out with an extinguisher.} Have you put Julia to bed, 
Susan ? 

Susan. Yes, ma'am, and she has gone to sleep. (Susan goes 
out?) 

Mrs. St. George. I thought I would send Julia to bed, so that 
we could talk together in peace. 



NO ENCOURAGEMENT. 127 

Scene V. Children need kind and encouraging treatment as well as wives. 

M?~s. Warner. Well, now, I had an idea of bringing Anna in 
with me, and letting her read here while we talk. I thought she 
would not prevent our talking in peace. 

Mrs. St. George. Oh no, Anna would not. She would sit still 
and read quietly all the time. But my Julia does not like to read 
or to study, or to sew, or to do any thing else that is useful, although 
I tell her continually that she does all those things so badly that I'm 
quite ashamed of her, and that she ought to take an interest in 
learning to do them better. 

Mrs. Warner. Perhaps that is the very reason why she does not 
like to do them. 

Mrs. St. George. That? What? What do you mean is the 
reason ? 

Mrs. Warner. Why, your telling her continually that she does 
not do them well. Perhaps you discourage and dishearten her. 

Mrs. St. George. No, I don't do it to discourage her. I do it 
to try to urge her to study more, and learn to do better. 

Mrs. Warner. But she needs to be encouraged. Children need 
sympathy and encouragement in their efforts, as well as wives. 

Mrs. St. George. But how can I encourage her ? If the writ- 
ing which a child does is not good, we can't honestly say it is. 

Mrs. Warner. No, but we can always find something good in it. 
Besides, if a child does her best, we ought to consider her work 
good. It is good for such a child. It is good for a beginner. If 
she is on the right way toward improvement and is advancing in it, 
we ought to be satisfied. We ought not to complain because she is 
not already at the end. 



128 NO ENCOURAGEMENT. 



Scene V. Mrs. St. George and Mrs. "Warner discuss the question. 

Mrs. St. George. That is very true ; but — {She hesitates.} 

Mrs. Warner. And besides, we all need some sympathy and 
encouragement in our efforts. If we suppose that we are doing well, 
we are stimulated to go on and do better. But if we suppose that 
others think we are not doing well, then we are disheartened, and we 
are disposed to give up in despair. 

Mrs. St. George. Now it seems to me that if you want a person 
to improve in any thing, the proper way is to let them see how back- 
ward they are in it, and so urge them to make efforts to advance. 

Mrs. Warner. Ah ! do you think so ? I have always thought 
exactly the reverse ; and that if we wish to induce a child, and es- 
pecially a girl, to try to make special effort to improve in any thing, 
we must conceal it from her as much as possible that she is par- 
ticularly backward in it. The truth is, there is no satisfaction for 
any body in doing what they know that all those around them think 
they do not do well. But, on the other hand, if there is any thing 
that we suppose other people think that we do well, that we love to 
do, and we try still more to improve in it. 

Mrs. St. George. There is some truth in that, I know. One 
time, Edward told me that some toast I made for him was the best 
that he ever ate, and you don't know how much pains I took with 
the toast for a week after that. 

Mrs. Warner. Yes, that is it exactly ; and we ought to treat 
our children just as we wish our husbands to treat us. 

Mrs. St, George. You are right. I'm convinced you are right. 
I don't wonder that poor Julia gets discouraged, for I'm finding fault 
with her the whole time. I'll try the other plan. 



NO ENCOURAGEMENT. 129 



Scene V. Mrs. St. George resolves to try the experiment. 

Mrs. Warner. Only you must be discriminating and just in 
your encouragement of her effort. That is very important. Noth- 
ing is worse than indiscriminating and lavish praise, for a child. It 
only makes her careless and vain. We must never pretend to be 
satisfied unless the child has really tried to do as well as she can — 
and never praise any thing that does not really deserve praise. The 
art consists in finding out what really does deserve praise in the 
efforts of beginners. 

Mrs. St. George. And how can I do that ? I am afraid that it 
requires more knowledge than I have got. 

Mrs. Warner. No. It is not knowledge that it requires, nor 
even skill exactly. It is only that we should, in imagination, make 
ourselves the children, and consider what mode of treatment would 
stimulate and encourage us, and what would dishearten and depress 
us, if we were in their places. 

Mrs. St. George. Yes, I see. I will try to practice on your 
plan. 

Mrs. Warner. If you do, I think you will soon find that Julia 
will begin to show more interest in her studies. 

Mrs. St. George. Yes, I think she will. And — I wish — Mary 
— that your husband would have a little talk with Edward, and put 
it into his head to try the same plan on me. 
24 I 



130 



AUNT MARIA AND HER BAROUCHE. 



Scene I. 



Picture of the ride in the barouche. 




DIALOGUE XI. 

AUNT MARIA AND HER BAROUCHE. 

PERSONS. 



Mrs. Jones, 

Anne, \ 

Lucy, > her daughters. 

Jane, ) 



Mrs. Maria. Jones, 
Richard, her son, 
Belinda, a domestic. 
George, a cousin. 



Scene I. 
Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Maria Jones, Anne, Richard. 

A parlor. The two ladies, seated upon a sofa. Anne at a table near, laying out 
some sewing. Papers on the table. Richard is seated upon the floor, mending 
the snapper of a whip. 
Mrs. Jones. I am so happy, sister Maria, that you have come to 

make us a little visit. 



AUNT MARIA AND HER BAROUCHE. 131 



Scene I. Kichards disobedience. His rude behavior. 

Mrs. Maria. I am very happy to come. And one thing, I am 
especially depending upon, sister, and that is to give the children 
some good rides in the barouche. 

Anne. {Clapping her hands!) Oh, we shall like that, aunt, 
very much indeed. We like riding in your barouche better than in 
any other kind of carriage. The top is all open, and we can see so 
well all around us. 

Richard. {Rising from the floor and snapping his whip.) 
There ! 

Mrs. Maria. Richard, my son, don't snap your whip in the 
parlor. 

Richard. (Snapping it more.) Why, mother, I want to try 
the snapper and see if it will do. 

Mrs. Maria. But, Richard, you'll whip the papers off the table. 

(Richard snaps his whip so as to make the papers fly off the 
table. He leaves them on the floor and proceeds to snap his ivhip 
near Anne, so as to make her afraid.) 

Richard. That's what I call a good snapper. Now I'm going. 

Mrs. Maria. No, Richard, you must not go out yet. I've got a 
plan for you. 

Richard. Oh, yes, mother. I am going out to the stable. (He 
puts on his cap and goes toward the door.) 
, Mrs. Maria. No, Richard, you must not go. Richard! Comeback! 

Richard. I'll come back pretty soon, mother. (He goes out.) 

Mrs. Maria. That boy is the plague of my life. I can't live 
with him, and I can't live without him. I'd give all the world if I 
could only teach him to obey me. 



132 AUNT MARIA AND HER BAROUCHE. 



Scene II. Mrs. Maria proposes to try an experiment 

Mrs. Jones. Did you ever try to teach him to obey you ? 

Mrs. Maria. No, I don't know that I ever tried to teach him, 
particularly. It seems to me that obeying their mother is a duty 
which children ought to perform of their own accord, without being 
taught. 

Mrs. Jones. I admit that they ought to do it, but they very 
seldom do. Children must be taught the habit of obedience just as 
they must be taught any thing else. 

Mrs. Maria. And have you taught your children to obey ? 

Mrs. Jones. I have tried to do it. Anne, are you getting the 
sewing ready for the children ? 

Anne. Yes, mother. They are coining in pretty soon. They 
will be all ready to begin when the clock strikes two. It wants 
twenty minutes to two now, and I am going out to find them. They 
are waiting for me to come and tell them what o'clock it is. They 
are all in the garden. 

Mrs. Jones. Very well ; you may go. (Anne goes out.) 

Scene II. 
Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Maria Jones. Afterward Belinda. 

An entry. A table with a bell upon it. Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Maria in riding- 
dress, ready to go out. 

Mrs. Maria. Sister Jane, I have an idea of trying an experi- 
ment on your children, to see if they will obey as well as you pre- 
tend. 



AUNT MAMA AND HER BAROUCHE. 133 

ST ' ~ 

Scene IL Her proposal. The measure adopted. 

Mrs. Jones. Oh, sister Maria, I don't pretend that they are par- 
ticularly obedient. I make no pretensions at all on the subject. 

Mrs. Maria. But you think they are, I know, and I have an 
idea of testing it. You say that the rule is, that they sew every 
afternoon from two to three? 

Mrs. Jones. Yes, that is the rule. 

Mrs. Maria. And they keep to their work whether you are in the 
room to overlook them or not ? 

Mrs. Jones. Yes, I believe they do. 

Mrs. Maria. Well now, suppose that you were to leave word 
for them to remain at their work to-day till four o'clock, that is, an 
hour later than the usual time of closing their work , do you think 
that they would obey you ? 

Mrs. Jones. Yes, I think they would. 

Mrs. Maria. Without your giving them any reason for it ? 

Mrs. Jones. Yes, I think they would. I have not taught my 
children to rest their obedience to me on the reasons I give them. 

Mrs. Maria. Do you never give them any reasons ? 

Mrs. Jones. Oh yes, very often ; but never to induce them to 
obey me. 

Mrs. Maria. Well, I should like very much to try an experi- 
ment upon them. You just leave word for them to sew till four 
o'clock. I have a plan for seeing how they will obey. (Mrs. Jones 
rings a bell.) 

Enter Belinda. 

Mj*s. Jones. Belinda, we are going out. A little after two, 
when the children are at their sewing, I wish you to come into the 



134 AUNT MARIA AND HER BAROUCHE. 

Scene III. The children at their sewing. The blue-hells. 

room and tell them that I desire them to continue at their work till 
four o'clock to-day, instead of going out at three. 

Belinda. Yes, ma'am, I will. 

Mrs. Jones. And now, sister, we will go. The carriage is at 
the door. 

Mrs. Maria. Very well. I'm all ready. (They all go out.) 



Scene III. 
Anne, Lucy, Jane. Afterward Belinda. 

A parlor. The children sewing. 

Anne. When we get our work done, we will have a fine time 
going down to the river. Cousin Richard is going with us to show 
us the way. He says that he will climb up on the rocks, and get us 
some beautiful blue-bells. 

Lucy. Oh, how glad I shall be ! How soon will it be three 
o'clock, Anne? 

Anne. It is now twenty minutes past two. So it will be forty 
minutes more before three. 

Lucy. Is that a half an hour, or a quarter of an hour? 

Anne. It is a little more than a half an hour. 

Lucy, Well, never mind ; a half an hour will soon be gone — 
that is, if we do not watch it too much, 

Jane. Yes. The way to make the time pass quick when we are 
at work, is to keep busy with the work, and not to watch the time. 



AUNT MARIA AND HER BAROUCHE. 135 

Scene III. Belinda comes in and delivers her message. 

Enter Belinda. 

Belinda. Miss Anne, your mother left word when she went out, 
that she wished you all to sew this afternoon till four o'clock, in- 
stead of going out at three. 

Anne. Till four ? 

Belinda. Yes, Miss Anne. 

(The children all stop their work, and look surprised.) 

Jane. Why, what can that mean ? 

Anne. Did she say why, Belinda ? 

Belinda. No, Miss Anne. All she said was, that she wished 
you to sew an hour longer this afternoon than usual ; but that you 
might go out at four o'clock. (Belinda goes out.) 

Lucy. (Drawing a long breath.) Well. We will. 

Anne. Yes. We certainly will. 

Jane. Only I should like to know what the reason is that she 
keeps us in so much longer to-day. 

Anne. Oh, it would not help us any to know the reason. I have 
no doubt that there is an excellent reason. And mother will tell us 
what it is, to-night or to-morrow. She always tells us the reasons 
after we have obeyed, that is, if we ask her. 

Lucy. (Sighing.) Well, we will stay till four. How long will 
that be, sister Anne ? 

Anne. It will be about an hour and a half. But never mind. 
We will see how much work we can do in that time — and that will 
please mother very much when she comes home. 



\ 



136 AUNT MARIA AND HER BAROUCHE. 

Scene IV. The children withstand a strong temptation. 

Scene IV. 
Anne, Lucy, Jane, Richard. 

The same. 

Richard. Come, girls, you've been sewing here long enough. 
Put away your work and let us go out and play. 

Lucy. No, Richard, not till four. We must not go till four. 

Richard. Ah, yes — go now. 

Anne. No, we are going to sew till four this afternoon. We 
have to stay in a half an hour longer. It is half past three now. 

Richard. But why ? What's the use of sitting here, sewing all 
the afternoon. Put your work away, and let us all go down to the 
river. 

Anne. At four o'clock we will. Mother left word for us to sew 
this afternoon till four o'clock. 

Richard. Oh, that makes no difference. Aunt Jones has gone 
away to ride, and if you go out now, she never will know it. 

Anne. Yes, she will know it. 

Richard. Why, how would she know it? - 

Anne. I should tell her myself. If I should find that I had 
disobeyed any of her directions while she was gone, the very first 
thing that I should do, when she came home, would be to go directly 
and tell her all about it. 

Richard. Oh, Anne, you're a queer girl. But, come Lucy, 
you'll go, I'm sure. You have got some common sense. Go out 
with me and play. 



AUNT MARIA AND HER BAROUCHE. 137 



Scene IV. Richard tampers with the clock. 

Lucy. No, not till the clock strikes four. 

Richard. Will you go as soon as the clock strikes four ? 

Lucy. Yes. As soon as I can put my work away after that. 

Richard. Then you'll go very soon, for I can make the clock 
strike four any time. (He goes out of view toward a corner of 
the room where the clock is, moving a chair with him. Though 
not seen, his voice and the movement of the chair are heard.) 

Anne. Richard, what are you going to do ? 

Richard. I'm going to make the clock strike four. 

Anne. Oh, Richard, you must not do any such a thing. 

Richard. Yes, there is a little wire in behind, among the wheels 
and machinery, which I can pull, and make the clock strike just as 
I've a mind to. That's the way I do with my mother's clock when 
I am at home. 

Lucy. No, Richard, you must not. You will only tangle up the 
machinery. 

Richard. Oh, no. There is a little door here in the side of the 
clock. ( The clock strikes, one, two, three, four. Richard is then 
heard getting down from his chair, and immediately afterward 
Tie appears again.) Now you can all go out, for the clock has 
struck four. 

Anne. No, Richard, we can not go out until it is four o'clock, 
really, and truly. 

Richard. Ah, yes you can. You, Lucy, will have to go at any 
rate ; for you promised me. 

Lucy, No. 

Richard. Yes, you said that you would go as soon after the 



138 AUNT MARIA AND HER BAROUCHE. 

Scene Y. The time expires. Carriage coming. 

clock struck as you could put your work away. So you must put it 
away — as fast as you can. 

Lucy. No, Richard, that was not what I meant. 

Richard. I don't care about what you meant. That was what 
you said. 

Anne. No, Richard. Promises are to be kept according to the 
true meaning of them, and not according to the mere words. 

Richard. And who told you that fine saying, Mrs. Wisdom ? 

Anne. My mother. 

Richard. Your mother ! {Contemptuously.) I never saw such 
girls as you are. If you won't go, I'll go myself, without you. 
(He goes out.) 

Scene V. 
Anne, Lucy, Jane. Afterward Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Maria. 

The same. The children stiU at their work. 

Anne. Now, children, it is past four, really, and we can begin 
to put away the work. 

Jane. It has not been a very long time. 

Anne. No ; time does not seem very long when we keep busy. 

Lucy. Hark ! I hear a carriage coming. I'll run to the window 
and see. 

Jane. I'll go too. 

Lucy. (Looking out at the window.) Ah, it is Aunt Maria and 
mother coming in the barouche. The top is all open. What a 



AUNT MARIA AND HER BAROUCHE. 139 

Scene Y. The basket. Mrs. Maria explains her plan. 

pretty barouche ! There is a large basket in it. I wonder what 
Aunt Maria has got in that basket. They are getting out of the 
carriage and coming in. I mean to ask Aunt Maria what she has 
got in that basket. 

Enter Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Maria. 

Mrs. Maria. Well, children, here you all are. You are just 
putting away your work. 

Lucy. Yes, aunt, and now we are going out to play. But what 
have you got in that big basket ? 

Mrs. Maria. What good children you are to obey ! Have not 
you been out at all ? 

Lucy. No ; we have been waiting for four o'clock. And now 
it's just come. But, Aunt Maria, what have you got in that 
basket? 

Mrs. Maria. Ah — that basket. It is full of very nice things. 
I thought I should save them all for myself; but now they are all to 
go to you. It is a little plan that I formed. I thought I would 
come here after four ; and if I found you all here, I would take you 
out to ride to a beautiful place on the mountains, and have a pic-nic. 
So I got my basket full of nice things for a pic-nic ; but I expected 
to find that you had all gone out to play, and so that I should save 
all my nice things. 

Anne. Well, aunt, you can keep them now. We shall like the 
ride very much, without the nice things. 

Mrs. Maria. Oh, no. I am very glad to find that you are here 
— very glad indeed. It would have been a great disappointment to 
me to have saved my nice things. 



140 AUNT MARIA AND HER BAROUCHE. 

Scene V. Eichard loses his ride on the poney. 

Lucy. (Capering about.) I am so glad that we are going to 
have a ride in the barouche ! 

Jane. And that we are going up on a mountain. I never went 
up on a mountain. 

Mrs. Maria. We shall have a very pleasant ride I am sure. 
There is a long winding carriage-road, leading through the woods be- 
hind the mountain, up to the top. Then we come out into an open 
view, and look over all the country as if we were in a balloon. We 
shall go up there in time to see the sun set. Then we shall have our 
pic-nic. I meant to have had Richard with us ; but he has gone 
away. I have got a little black poney which I intended that he 
should ride. But he has lost his ride by going away. 

Anne. But, aunt, let me go and find him. I can find him, I 
am sure, in a very short time. 

Mrs. Maria. No. He ought not to have gone away. 

Anne. But perhaps he did not know that you wished him to 
stay in. 

Mrs. Maria. Yes, I gave him the same order that your mother 
gave you ; and he has disobeyed me. So he must lose his ride. But 
you shall all go ; and you will enjoy the excursion a great deal more 
for having stood faithful to your duty in the time of trial. Come, 
put on your bonnets, we are all ready. 

(Anne and Jane go out. Lucy remains behind to speak a mo- 
ment to her aunt.) 

Lucy. But, aunt, what will you do with the poney? 

Mrs. Maria. I am going to stop by the way, and get your cousin 



AUNT MARIA AND HER BAROUCHE. 141 

Sceue VI. The children on the mountain. A ramble proposed. 



George to gow ith us, and let him ride the ponej. Your mother tells 
me that he is as obedient as you are. 

Lucy. {Jumping up and clapping her hands.) Oh, I'm very 
glad that cousin George is going. We should rather have our cousin 
George go with us than any body. 

Mrs. Maria. Very well ; run and get ready. 

Scene YI. 
Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Maria Jones, Anne, Lucy, Jane, George. 

On the mountain. The horses and the barouche stand near the roadside, under 
the trees. In the center, in front, the party are seen sitting on the rocks, under 
the shade of a group of trees. On a large fiat-topped stone in the middle, a cloth 
is spread, with various refreshments upon it — such as cakes, oranges, pitchers 
of lemonade, and other such things. 

Mrs. Maria. Well, children, have you all had as much as you 
wish for ? 

Anne. I have ; and I think that we all have. And we have had 
a most delightful time, Aunt Maria. We are very much obliged to 
you for giving us such a pleasant ride. 

Jane. Yes, Aunt Maria. It is a great deal more than enough to 
pay us for sewing an hour longer. 

Mrs. Maria. I am very glad that you have had such a good 
time. And now we are going to stay here as much as half an hour 
more; and if we could trust you not to go into any dangerous 
places, you might ramble about a little while, I suppose, and amuse 
yourselves. 



142 AUNT MARIA AND HER BAROUCHE. 



Scene VI. George entrusted with a commission. 



Mrs. Jones. Oh, we can trust them. They will only go where 
we give them leave to go. 

Anne. There is a very pretty place down here a little way, un- 
der the rocks. We should like to go there. 

Lucy. Yes, I think we can get some pretty mountain flowers 
there. 

Mrs. Jones. I am afraid that it is a dangerous place. 

Anne. Well, mother, let cousin George go and see. 

Mrs. Jones. That will do very well. Go with the girls, George, 
and see what sort of a place it is, and then come back and tell me. 

Anne. Come, George. (George and the children go away.) 

Mrs. Maria. Ah, me ! how I wish that Richard was an obedient 
boy to me, like your children ! How happy I should be if he were ! 

Mrs. Jones. You have only to teach him. 

Mrs. Maria. Ah, sister ! how can you talk so ? You speak as 
if it was the easiest thing in the world — but I assure you it is im- 
possible. With such a boy as Richard is, it is really and truly im- 
possible. 

Mrs. Jones. I don't believe that you have ever, in the whole 
course of his life, set yourself at work, deliberately and in earnest, 
to try to teach him to obey you. So you can not tell whether it is 
impossible or not. 

Mrs. Maria. At any rate, it is of no use to begin now. I ought 
to have begun a great many years ago. But here come the children 
again. 

Enter George, followed by the children. 

Mrs. Jones. Well, George, what did yon find ? 



AUNT MARIA AND HER BAROUCHE. 143 

Scene VI. George brings back a report. Flowers. 

George. It is a very pretty place ; and the back part of it is not 
dangerous. The front part is dangerous. 

Mrs. Jones. What makes the front part dangerous ? 

George. There is a precipice there — a very steep rocky precipice. 
You see it is a green level place like a shelf. There is a path lead- 
ing down to it from here. The path comes out on the back side of 
it where it is all safe. But the front edge of it comes to the brink 
of a precipice ever so far down. 

Mrs. Jones. Very well • then you may go and play there, only 
you must not go near the precipice. 

Lucy. How far off from it must we keep, mother ? 

Mrs. Jones. Hand me up a little stone, and I'll show you. 

(Lucy takes up a stone and gives it to her mother ; and her 
mother tosses it out a little way upon the grass.) 

Lucy. As far as that ? 

Mrs. Jones. Yes, about as far as that. If you don't go any 
nearer than that there will be no danger. 

Lucy. There are a great many pretty flowers there, mother. 

Jane. Yes, mother, and we are going to make some bouquets. 

Mrs. Jones. That is a very good plan ; and if you find plenty 
of flowers, you may bring two apiece for your Aunt Maria and me, 
so that we can have bouquets too. 

Anne. Yes, mother, we will. 

George. I'll hold the flowers that you get for Aunt Jane and 
Aunt Maria. You can give them to me as fast as you gather them. 

Anne. But, children, before we go, let us put these things all 
back into the basket. 



144 AUNT MARIA AND HER BAROUCHE. 

Scene VI. Mrs. Maria proposes a new plan. 

Jane. So we will, only first let us all have a good drink of 
lemonade. 

Anne. Well. (Anne pours out the lemonade, and gives each 
one a drink.) 

Lucy. Aunt Maria, was this the reason why you wanted mother 
to keep us at our sewing an hour more this afternoon — to see if we 
would obey, and then to bring us up to take this ride ? 

Mrs. Maria. It was not all the reason. I have a plan of another 
excursion to-morrow, which will take all the afternoon ; and I 
thought that perhaps if you worked two hours to-day, your mother 
would excuse you from working at all to-morrow. 

Jane. {Clapping her hands.) And shall you be willing, 
mother ? 

Mrs. Jones. Certainly. I shall be very glad to do it ; and you 
see how easy we can make all sorts of agreeable arrangements, 
when we can depend upon the children to obey. 



THE TIGERS. 



145 



Scene I. 



Picture of Mark hiding away from his mother. 




DIALOGUE XII 

THE TIGERS. 

PERSONS. 



Mrs, Cheveril, 
Mark, 



Fanny, 

Timboo, a South Sea Island boy. 



Scene I. 
Timboo, Fanny. 

A pleasant green yard behind the house. Timboo mowing. Fanny sitting on the 

steps of the piazza. 

Fanny. Why don't you let the grass grow taller before you 
mow it, Timboo ? 

Timboo. Because if we mow it often, and when it is short, that 
24 * K 



146 THE TIGERS. 



Scene L Timboo makes explanations about mowing. 

makes it grow soft and fine ; and we want it to be soft and fine in 
the yard. 

Fanny. You don't do so in the field. 

Timboo. No ; in the field we let it grow tall before we mow it. 
We manage differently in that case. You see it depends upon what 
we are mowing for. In the field we are mowing for the grass. 
Here we are mowing for the yard. 

Fanny. And I suppose that this little short grass that you cut 
here is not good for any thing. 

Timboo. No ; it is not worth much. It is not worth a quarter 
part what it costs to cut it. 

Fanny. 0, Timboo ! it does not cost any thing to cut it. You 
cut it yourself. 

Timboo. True — but then / cost something. 

Fanny. How do you cost any thing, Timboo ? 

Timboo. "Why there are my wages that are to be paid ; and then 
what I eat and drink costs something. I suppose that my time costs 
your father a dollar a day ; so that every half day's work that I do 
on this yard, costs half a dollar. 

Fanny. Then I should think it would be best to let the grass 
grow tall, and cut it all at once. 

Timboo. That would be best if it were not for you and Mark. 

Fanny. For me and Mark ! 

Timboo. Yes. Your mother has this grass cut often because 
she thinks it makes the yard a pleasanter place for you and Mark to 
play in. If the grass gets tall, you can not run about over the 
yard on account of your feet getting entangled in it. And then be- 



THE TIGERS. 147 



Scene II. Mark appears as a fugitive. 

sides, it holds the dew so long when it is tall, that it is usually noon 
before it is dry. 

Fanny. And when I even walk along the path it wets my 
dresses, the tall tops hang over so much. 

Timboo. Yes. So you see that on every account it is better for 
you to have it kept down. 

Fanny. Well, Timboo, then if you are doing all this for Mark 
and me, I think that Mark and me ought to help you. 

Timboo. Mark and I. 

Fanny. Yes, Mark and I. Could not I rake the grass up after 
you have done mowing it ? 

Timboo. Yes, you could do that very well ; and if you would 
like to do it, you can go into the barn, and get a rake. Then you will 
be all ready to begin to rake as soon as I have finished my mowing. 

Fanny. That is just the thing I'll do. (She rises from her 
seat and goes away singing!) 

Scene II. 
Timboo, Mark. 

Timboo mowing. Enter Mark in a hurried manner, coming round the corner of 

the house. 

Timboo, Well, Mark? 

Mark. Ah, Timboo ! You are mowing the grass. I am glad of 
it. But I can't stop. 

Timboo. What makes you in a hurry ? 

Mark. Why, you see that mother is writing a note ; and when 



148 THE TIGERS. 



Scene III. fanny offers her help to Timhoo. 

it is done, I guess that if she sees me, she will want me to carry it ; 
but I would rather she would send you. And she will send you, if 
she does not see me anywhere. So I stepped out at the front door, 
and I am going to hide. 

Timboo. {In a contemptuous tone.) Ha ! 

Mark. She saw me coming out ; and she told me not to go far ; 
and I am not going far. I am going to hide here, behind this lilac 
bush, at the garden gate. 

Timboo. Very well. 

Mark. If mother comes to the door, don't you tell her where I 
am ; and then when she gives up finding me, she will send you. 

Timboo. Very well. 

{Mark goes behind the bush and hides.) 

Timboo. {Alone.) What an ungrateful, undutiful little mon- 
key a boy of eight or ten years old always is. He is worse than any 
respectable brute. If a dog were to be known to run and hide when 
he thought that the master who fed him every day had need of him, 
every other dog in town would despise him. And yet boys eight or 
ten years old think that such a performance is a very nice feat — and 
if they succeed, they are very proud of it. 

Scene III. 
Timboo, Fanny. Afterivard Mrs. Cheveril and Mark. 

The same, Timboo mowing. Fanny comes in with a rake. 
Fanny. Now, Timboo, I will help you all I can. Where shall 
I begin ? 



THE TIGERS. 149 



Scene III. The way to rake. Mrs. Cheveril. 

Timboo. Children generally begin in the middle when they un- 
dertake to rake ; or, if not in the middle, wherever they happen to 
be, and so, before they get through, they have to rake the same 
ground over twice. 

Fanny. But that is not the right way, is it ? 

Timboo. No, that is exactly the wrong way. 

Fanny. And which is the right way ? 

Timboo. The right way is to consider first where you are going 
to rake the grass to. Then, when you have determined that, you go 
to the farthest part of the yard from that, and rake along regularly. 

Fanny. Well, I '11 do it so. 

Enter Mrs. Cheveril. She appears at a door leading from the 
house to the piazza, and has a letter in her hand. 

Mrs. Cheveril. Fanny ! 

Fanny. What, mother? 

Mrs. Cheveril. What are you doing ? 

Fanny. I am going to rake the grass, mother. It is to help 
Timboo. 

Mrs. Cheveril. Do you know where Mark is ? 

Fanny. No, mother, I have not seen him for some time. 

Mrs. Cheveril. Because I want him to carry this letter. 

Fanny. Well, I '11 go and see if I can find him, mother — if Tim- 
boo can spare me from the raking. 

Timboo. I suppose I know where he is, Mrs. Cheveril, and I 
will send him in to you. 

Mrs. Cheveril. Any time within ten minutes will do. I am not 
in haste. (Mrs. Cheveril returns into the house.) 



150 THE TIGERS. 



Scene III. Timboo's opinion of Mark's conduct 

Timboo. {Calling.) Mark ! 

Mark. {Coming out from behind the lilac bush.) Ah, now, 
Timboo, that was not fair ! 

Timboo. What have I done that is not fair ? 

Mark. Why, you promised that you would not tell where I 



Timboo. No, I promised nothing at all. 

Mark. Well, I asked you not to tell. 

Timboo. That is true. 

Mark. And you ought not to have told. 

Timboo. I have not told. I only said I would find you and 
send you in. 

Mark. And are you going to send me in ? 

Timboo. Yes. 

Mark. How are you going to do it, I should like to know ? 

Timboo. This is the way I shall do it. Master Cheveril, I 
hereby command you to walk straight in to your mother, and tell 
her you are ready to take her letter, and carry it wherever she de- 
sires. 

Mark. And suppose I don't obey you ? 

Timboo. You had better obey me, unless you wish to feel the 
effects of my vengeance. 

Fanny. Ah, Mark, you had better go. Timboo's vengeance 
will be something terrible, you may depend. 

Timboo. He has got to be punished for what he has done 
already. 

Mark. And what is the punishment to be ? 



THE TIGERS. 151 



Scene IV. Conversation in the bay window. The grass. 

Timboo. You will learn when you get back from carrying the 
letter. 

Mark. Well, I'll go. 

Fanny. Yes, I think you had better. 

Mark. I will ; but it is not on account of the punishment. 
The punishment will only be some funny thing or other. 



Scene IV. 
Mrs. Cheveril, Fanny. 

A parlor. Mrs. Cheveril seated on an ottoman, at a large hay window, sewing. 
A pretty work-table near her. One of the sashes of the window extends down 
to the floor, and is open. From it, a step leads down to the piazza. Fanny is 
seated on the step, preparing to commence hemming a handkerchief. Through 
the open window there is a view of the yard, freshly mown. 

Fanny. See how smooth and pretty the yard looks, mother ! 

Mrs. Cheveril. Yes, I think it looks very pretty indeed. 

Fanny. Timboo and I mowed it and raked it. 

Mrs. Cheveril. Did you ? 

Fanny. Yes ; that is, Timboo mowed it and I raked it. 

Mrs. Cheveril. And what did you do with the grass ? 

Fanny. Why it was too short grass, you see, to make into hay, 
and so we carried it into the barn, and put it into the cow's crib. 
Timboo said that the cow will eat it to-morrow for an early break- 
fast. 

Mrs. Cheveril. I think she will like it very much. 



152 THE TIGERS. 



Scene IV. An early breakfast for the cow. 

Fanny. Yes, Timboo says that she will eat it early in the morn- 
ing, as soon as it is light. 

Mrs. CheveriL It will be a fine thing for her to have such an 
early breakfast before she goes to pasture. 

Fanny. Yes, I think it will. And the yard is smoother and 
nicer for us to play in. Timboo says that the reason why you have 
it mowed so often is to make it a pleasant place for Mark and me 
to play in. 

Mrs. CheveriL Yes, that is the chief reason. 

Fanny. I think it is very kind in you to do it ; because, when 
the grass is high, it keeps wet with the dew all the forenoon. 

Mrs. CheveriL Yes ; it becomes dry much sooner when it is 
closely mown. But what do you suppose the dew is? Do you 
know? 

Fanny. Yes, mother. I know it is a little shower that comes 
in the night. 

Mrs. CheveriL What sort of a little shower ? 

Fanny. Why, a little water-shower — a rain-shower. 

Mrs. CheveriL No, it is not exactly that. People speak of the 
dew falling, as they do of the rain falling. But really the dew does 
not fall. It is drawn out of the air by the grass. 

Fanny. 0\ mother ! 

Mrs. CheveriL Yes, that is the way. You see there is always 
a great deal of moisture in the air, especially when it is warm, and 
then if you bring any thing cold into it, the cold thing, somehow or 
other, draws the moisture out. You see it on the table, at dinner. 
If there is cold water in a tumbler, that cools the glass all through, 



THE TIGERS. 153 



Scene IV. Mrs. Cheveril learns that Mark had hid from her. 

and then the cold glass outside draws the moisture out of the 
air. 

Fanny. I thought it came through, from the water in the tumbler. 

Mrs. Cheveril. No, it does not come through. If it came 
through, there would be a dew on the outside of it when you put 
warm water in it. It does not come through. The coldness of the 
glass draws the moisture from the air outside. 

Fanny. And is it so with the dew at night ? 

Mrs. Cheveril. Yes. The grass gets cold in the night, and so, 
in some curious way, draws the water from the air. 

Fanny. I don't understand it very well. 

Mrs. Cheveril. I don't wonder ; for I confess I don't understand 
it very well myself. 

Fanny. Mother, what made Mark go and hide behind the lilac 
bush? 

Mrs. Cheveril. When? 

Fanny. When you came out to call him. 

Mrs. Cheveril. I did not know that he was hiding behind the 
lilac-bush. 

Fanny. Yes. He was hiding there, and when you went in, 
Timboo called him and sent him in to you. Ah, mother, there comes 
Mark, now ! I see him coming up the road. May I go and meet 
him? 

Mrs. Cheveril. Yes ; he will like to have you go and meet him, 
I am sure. 

Fanny. I'll come directly back to my sewing. {Fanny lays 
down her work and runs out.) 






154 THE TIGERS. 



Scene V. Timboo's Lodge. Mending the map box. 

Mrs. Cheveril. {Alone.) Can it be possible that Mark hid 
away so as to avoid having to go with my letter. I can not believe 
it. And yet I recollect that he seemed to creep out of the room so 
stealthily when I told him that I was writing a note that was to go 
to the village. Still I do not believe it. It would break my heart, 
to think that after all that I do to promote his happiness, and make 
him love me, he would take so much pains to avoid rendering me so 
small a service. 

Enter Mark and Fanny. 

Mark. I gave it to her, mother. 

Mrs. Cheveril. I am very much obliged to you for going, Mark. 
But now tell me one thing honestly. Did you hide away because 
you did not wish to go for me ? 

Mark. {Hanging his head, and looking confused.) Yes, 
mother — I did. 

Mrs. Cheveril. I am very sorry. (Mrs. Cheveril goes on sew- 
ing in silence, and pretty soon Mark goes out.) 

Scene V. 
Timboo, Mark, Fanny. 

Timboo's Lodge, a room comfortably fitted up in an out-huilding. Timboo is 
seated on a table engaged in mending a box which contains a dissected map. 
Mark is looking on. Fanny stands at the end of the table, trying to put the 
dissected map together, while Timboo is mending the box. 
Timboo. I did not say that you were worse than a tiger in gen- 
eral — but only that I once knew some tigers that were in some re- 
spects better than you. 



THE TIGERS. 155 



Scene V. Timboo gives an account of an adventure in Havre. 

Mark. In what respect ? 

Timboo. Why, they were grateful, and you were ungrateful. 

Mark. Nonsense, Timboo. But, nevertheless, tell us about those 
tigers. 

Fanny. Yes, Timboo, do. 

Timboo. Well, once upon a time, in the course of my voyages, 
I stopped at the port of Havre, in France. If you had not been in 
the habit, like other foolish boys, of wasting your time in school in 
whispering and playing, instead of attending to your studies, you 
would know where Havre is. 

Mark. I do know where it is. It is on the northern coast of 
France — on the shore of the English channel. 

Timboo. Right. You have studied your geography better than 
I thought you had. It was up the English channel that I sailed 
when I went to Havre. 

Mark. Well, go on about the tigers. Do they have these tigers 
in Havre ? 

Timboo. They had some for a show when I was there, and I 
went to see them. They had them in a tent, at a sort of fair, out- 
side the town. One evening, I was strolling about, and I came to 
this fair, and I thought I would go into the tent and see the tigers. 

Mark. How much did you have to pay? 

Timboo. Two sous. 

Mark. How much is a sou ? 

Timboo. About a cent. 

Mark. Then it was a very cheap show ? 
- Timboo. Yes ; the shows at those fairs are always pretty cheap. 



.-.i^ —^^^^mmmmmjmmm 



156 THE TIGERS. 



Scene V. The young lady who came in to feed the tigers. 

Besides, I took one of the cheapest seats. When I went in and had 
taken my seat, I saw before me a number of cages, and a tiger in 
every cage. 

Mark. How did they look ? 

Timboo. They looked very ferocious. They were roaring and 
growling dreadfully, and they walked back and forth, and jumped 
up and down, as if they were in a state of great fury. 

Fanny. I should have been afraid of them. 

Timboo. No, there were strong iron bars in front of the cages, 
so we were not afraid. Well, in a few minutes, a young girl came 
in. She was dressed all in white, and was, I should think, about 
fifteen years of age. She was a very delicate and pretty looking 
girl. She came in upon the stage, and took her stand in front of 
the cages. There she stood and curtsied to the audience. 

Mark. Did the tigers stop growling ? 

Timboo. No ; they looked fiercer and more ferocious than ever. 
Pretty soon, some rough looking men came in from a side door, 
bringing some baskets with great pieces of meat in them. 

Fanny. Meat ? 

Timboo. Yes. meat to feed the tigers with. One of the men 
had a wooden pitchfork. He gave the pitchfork to the girl. She 
took it and held it with the points up. Then another man took a 
piece of the meat and put it upon the points of the pitchfork, and 
the girl turning round, held it to the bars of one of the tiger's cages. 
The tiger immediately seized it with his paws, and pulled it through 
the grating. 

Mark. And what did he do then ? 



OCS5 



THE TIGERS. 157 



Scene V. Gratitude of the tigers. Their freaks and gambols. 

Timboo. He crouched down upon the floor, and holding the meat 
in his paws, he began to gnaw it, as a dog would a bone. The girl 
then held her pitchfork again, and the man put a second piece of 
meat upon it ; and the girl then fed the second tiger. And so on, 
along the whole row. The tigers seemed to be all well contented as 
soon as they got their meal. And they remained some time eating 
it very quietly. We all looked on. 

Mark. And was that all that you saw ? 

Timboo. No. As soon as the girl had fed the tigers, she went 
out and a man came in. The man said if we would wait a few min- 
utes until the tigers had eaten their meat, the young lady would go 
into their cages and play with them. 

Fanny. And did she ? 

Timboo. Yes, she went in by a back door into one of the cages, 
and then passed from one cage to another along the whole row, by 
means of doors between. 

Fanny. And did not they bite her ? 

Timboo. No. They jumped about and played with her, and 
tumbled over and over each other before her, just as if they had been 
so many kittens. 

Mark. I should have thought they would have torn her to 
pieces. 

Timboo. Yes, I suppose you would have torn her to pieces if 
you had been one of the tigers ! — but they had some gratitude. 
They remembered that she gave them their meat, and they were 
thankful to her for it. They would do whatever she directed them. 
She would make them jump through a hoop that she held in her 






158 THE TIGERS. 



Scene V. Timboo compares Mark to the tigers. 

hand, or lie down and put their heads in her lap, and various other 
things. Whatever she wished them to do, that they all seemed very 
willing to do. They were grateful because she fed them. If you 
had been one of them, you would have torn her to pieces, I suppose, 
even if she had fed you every day for ten years. 

Mark. Oh, Timboo ! 

Timboo. At least if you would not have torn her to pieces, you 
would have refused to obey her. You would have lain down in a 
corner and gone to sleep, and you would not have done any thing to 
please her. 

Mark. Why, Timboo, what makes you think I should have acted 
so? 

Timboo. Because that is the way you have acted toward your 
mother. She has been feeding, and taking care of you, and watch- 
ing over you, and doing every thing to make you happy, now for 
eight years. 

Mark. I am nine years old almost. 

Timboo. Well, for nine years. And now when an opportunity 
occurs for you to do some little good in return, such as going to carry 
a letter, you run off and hide. I don't believe that there is one of 
those tigers that I saw, that, if he had been in your place, would 
have acted in such a way. {Mark hangs his head and looks con- 
founded.} 

Fanny. I think you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Mark. 

Mark. I am ashamed of myself. I did not do right. I did not 
think. 

Timboo. That is just the difference between you and the tigers. 



THE TIGERS. 159 



Scene V. He accuses Mark of great ingratitude. 

They did think. When they saw the girl coming into their dens, 
all dressed in white, they said to themselves, Ah ! here comes the 
young lady that has given us so many good suppers. Now we will 
do whatever she asks of us. But a boy, when he sees his mother, 
never says, Ah, here is the kind mother, that has taken care of me, 
and has done so many things for me all the years of my life, and I 
will do whatever she asks of me. Instead of that, if he imagines 
there is any thing that he can do for her, and that she is going to 
ask him to do it, he runs off and hides ! 

Mark. Well, Timboo, I'll promise that I will never do such a 
thing again. And now, if you will just tell me what my punish- 
ment shall be, I'll take it. 

Timboo. I should think you would feel better for some punish- 
ment. 

Mark. I think I should. 

Timboo. But the best thing for you to do, to make you forget 
this iniquity, is for you to watch for opportunities every day for a 
month to come, to do some kindness or other to your mother. 

Mark. Well, I will. 

Timboo. There is very little that you can do. The opportuni- 
ties are very rare, but when they do happen, don't be more ungrate- 
ful than a tiger, and go away and hide. And now your box is 
mended. I am almost afraid to mend a box, or do any thing for you, 
for fear that you should bite me for it, or do some more ungrateful 
thing. 

Mark. 0, Timboo, you 1 are too bad. {He takes his box under 
his arm.) And now, Fanny, I think I had better go and tell 



160 THE TIGERS. 

Scene V. Mark's resolves to go and confess his fault 

mother, that I am very sorry that I was not willing to carry her 
letter, and went away and hid ; and that I never will do such a thing 
again. 

Fanny. I would, Mark. I would go and tell mother that, if I 
were you. It will comfort her. 



THE END. 




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